The Protocol
by RevlerRose
Summary: This is a CARYL fic! You have been warned. There is also some implied METH. Yes, I kept MERLE ALIVE because he was COOL and had great room for GROWTH! Summery- Daryl and Carol finally find their way into each other's hearts but, will an unexpected tragedy keep them from a life together? Lets go in to the Appalachians and find out! RATED M FOR LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, AND SMUT.
1. The Kiss

**OFFICAL DISCLAIMER! - I own none of TWD Characters here within, only a lust for Southern Comfort and the men who drink it. ;) CARYL ON!**

She kissed Him.

It was a moment of weakness, or maybe strength, Carol wasn't really sure. It didn't matter now. What mattered was she had taken the plunge, jumped in first, and quit waiting for him. She had been so angry. So ridiculously angry. He acted like the walkers getting in was her fault. Like He expected Her to run, like the other women from Woodbury, to hide...He should have know better. Carol had spent twelve years hiding from her husband's shadow and, by the light of that dying fire before their first winter together, she had said goodbye to that burden and become Carol again, not "a burden" but, something more.

So when Glen's cry went out of walkers in the prison She ran in while others ran out. She grabbed Mary Beth first, sweeping the four year old up into her arms, then she sought out the hand of Alice. Alice was only twelve and watching in horror as a walker made a meal of her father. "Run," Carol commanded in a voice she would not have previously recognized as her own only a year ago. From Her arms Mary Beth screamed and Carol instinctively drew her knife from the belt holster and spun plunging her Winchester skinning blade into the eye socket of the walker that had been behind her. "Thanks," she murmured to Mary Beth. The little girl only clutched Carol tighter as Carol continued to grab straggling children.

When they made it outside Daryl was right behind them with a little boy of no more than six. He set the boy to rights and went over to engage in terse discourse with Rick before returning to Carol and grabbing her arms roughly. "You bit?" He grunted examining her extremities and then tilting her head to the right and left so he could see her neck clearly.

"No. You?" Carol replied flatly. She understood, in the heat of the moment, that Daryl was upset, distracted, worried but, Carol did feel for all the world like she was being examined like a horse at auction.

Daryl humphed dropping her arms. "Naw but, we ain't done wit this woman."

Now Carol was irritated, really irritated. It was bad enough that the object of 90% of her sex dreams had moved in to share a cell with her to "git away from those others" as he put it but, now, now he presumed to try to tell her that there would be more of this ham handed examination or interrogation applying to this situation? No, no that would NOT be happening.

"No, we're done with this," Carol met his gaze evenly. "These children have just been traumatized and they need a certain degree of normalcy so, if you wouldn't mind, I'm going to take them by the chicken coop and we're going to do a head count and maybe a quiet story while you figure this out with Rick. Let me know if you need me." Carol stressed the word need as emphatically as she could before turning to gather the children around her as they headed north toward the coop. Carol quickly counted heads...16...there were 18 this morning. Who was she missing? Carol's chest tightened but, for the children, she held her tears.

Daryl was speechless. The woman was spunky, fiery, no... crazy, that's all there was to it. He loved to see this side of her, fiercely independent and confident but, if she died, or turned. Daryl shook his head in a absent attempt to rid his mind of such horrors. When his eyes refocused he couldn't help but fix his gaze on her form. Her body had grown tight, muscular, lean and damn to watch that ass walk away... Daryl heard a chuckle behind him and he turned to face Merle and his big, stupid, shit-eating grin.

"Damn, Little Brother, and they say I'm the dog."

"Shut it, Merle," Daryl mumbled as he turned away towards Rick.

"Oh, come on Brother, I bet she'd let you bury your bone..." Daryl spun to face Merle and the Older Brother saw, immediately, that he had overstepped. "Okay, okay, don't get you panties in a bunch Darylenea. Rick wants to talk to us anyway. Something about working on welding some gates in back."

Daryl had gone with them then. Worked hard. But, not hard enough. Lost in his own head, like always, He had returned to their cell that night ready to fight. He was ready to tell her what losing her would do to him. How could she be so careless, so reckless, with her life?

Carol had worked hard that day too. Burying two tiny bodies in their growing cemetery. A bother and sister. No other family, just each other. Carol felt the loss like a bolt through the heart. No one had come forward to claim them, to bury them, to pray over them...no one. Carol sat by their graves that afternoon with the other children that flocked to her side during the crisis. They had told stories of Emma and Paddy. A bother and sister from Union City, GA and the adventures they had together on their way to Woodbury and then the prison. She tried to keep it positive. Hugs and funny stories of Paddy's stubbornness and Emma's struggles with tying her brother's shoes. When the children began to yawn and complain of stomach pains Carol had gathered them all up, even Alice who had fallen asleep on her father's fresh grave, and taken them inside to dinner and bed. Carol could not sleep though, not until she had it out with Daryl. How could he question her intent, her actions? 'We ain't done with this' MY ASS, Carol thought as she paced their cell. They were done with it, all done, how could he cast doubt on her when these children had no one else to look for them, no one else to know they were even missing?

Daryl stormed into his cell. Lips set into a thin line and mind made up to give Carol a piece of his mind.

Carol was ready arm out stretched and finger extended, "Out!"

Daryl's mouth dropped open. There was a fire in her. In scared and excited him at the same time. She was already wearing her clothes for bed and the way her sleep shorts clung to her made him need an extra second to gather his thoughts back together. "What? Why in the fuck would I leave my own cell?"

"This is my home too and, last I checked, I don't go stomping around you when you've had a bad day. So, if you want to act like that, O-U-T, you can get OUT until you can come home without stomping like a damn child."

Daryl's mouth opened and closed a few times. Then, wordlessly, he brushed past her and set his bow down on the top bunk. Daryl took several deep breaths and then turned to her and squared his shoulders. "No," he breathed.

"No?" Carol expected him to run, to yell, maybe call her a Bitch but, not 'No." Her brow creased and Daryl's hand shot out so fast she flinched. She couldn't help it. The flinches were habit.

"Shhhhshhhh..." Daryl breathed placing his palm to her cheek he used the thumb to gently sooth away the creases in her forehead. It was an oddly intimate gesture and it's significance was not lost on Carol. She let him palm her face and draw it towards his. For just a moment she thought he was going to kiss her but, he stopped with their foreheads pressing together. "Heard about Emma and Paddy, he was the little red-headed boy right?"

Carol closed her eyes willing the tears to stay at bay. Slowly she wet her lips and nodded keeping her forehead securely against his.

Daryl sighed letting the hand that had been on her face drift to easily palm the back of her neck. "You know what it would do to me?" Daryl breathed keeping their foreheads pressed together. Daryl's face temporarily clenched his face in a reflex of emotional pain, "You know what it would do to us if you were the one? The one in the ground. Do you even know?"

Carol couldn't stop the tears now. She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly.

Daryl dropped his hand. Exasperation coming to his voice, "Woman," he began.

That's when she did it.

She kissed Him.

Maybe it was strength. Maybe it was weakness. Fact of the matter was, it was wonderful. She pressed her soft lips to his chapped ones. Chaste and momentary. Daryl barely had time to react before she began to pull away. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly trying to process what had just happened. That, however, was proving painfully difficult as his brain was NOT in possession of necessary blood-flow. Daryl heard someone moan and, with a start, realized it was him. He opened his eyes only to see fear in hers. Her mouth was open in a silent 'O' and, for a moment, just a hair's breadth of a second, he could hear her thoughts:

Why'd I do that? God, I've made a fool of myself. He'll hate me. He'll move out. I'm too old. Beth would be better. Beth is so pretty. I can't give him children. I'm impossible to look after. I'm ugly. I'm fat. I'm a nuisance. Swallow me world, swallow me right not, please...oh god o god ogodogodogodogod...

Daryl pushed forward pressing her body between his and the cell wall. His lips found her open mouth and his tongue plundered her. He had no words. Daryl Dixon was no good with words but, as her tongue began to glide along his, he knew she had heard him. When he finally broke the kiss they both panted for air. Suddenly the silence that had always been so easy between them felt like it needed words. Daryl started; "I, um, I've been workin' and I'm gonna need a shower, fore' bed." Carol nodded against him her head buried in the crook of his neck. He felt her smile. This brought a rare smile to his lips. He leaned in close a spoke in a husky murmur to her ear. "I ain't gonna try nothin'. I ain't no pervert. But, maybe, I was thinkin' maybe you'd wait up for me? So I could hold ya? If you think there's room in ya bunk for two, can't have you runnin' off ta be sorrowful and shit and, well, truth be told woman, I wouldn't be objecting if you wanted to ..." Daryl's voice trailed off and a sudden hot blush that started as his ears came across his cheeks.

Carol looked up and took his face between both of her hands holding his gaze. "I would like it very much if you would hold me tonight while I sleep Daryl Dixon," she said softly. The blush began to drain away and Daryl gave soft nod. Regretfully Carol let him go as he began to gather up his shower supplies. He looked over his shoulder at her, as if to confirm she was really and truly sitting in their cell when he left, then there was another small nod and Carol watched him walk off towards the showers.

That was the fastest, coldest, shower Daryl Dixon had ever taken in his life. When he was confident that his manhood had been sufficiently taken care of, it had taken less than three minutes, he stood under the stream of cold water an extra while. In fact, he had waited so long in the icy spray that Daryl was marginally certain, his penis might declare strike never come back out of his body. Boy was he wrong. Thirty seconds out of the icy water and, just the thought of Carol lying back in their cell waiting for him, his cock was back. Damn...

Daryl tried desperately to think of Merle on the way back. Merle...Merle...Merle...Herschel...Merle...Any naked hairy man...ewww...come'on...Daryl turned into his cell...their cell. He saw her, laying there, her eyes open and watching. Beautiful, soft, perfect, wait, what was he thinking about before?

"This okay?" Daryl mumbled as he set on the very edge of the bunk. Carol nodded her head and murmured a sleepy affirmative. She was lying on her left side, facing the wall. He laid down on his left side. A small smile played on Carol's lips as she realized that he wasn't yet touching her. She reached back with her right arm and drew his hand and arm across her body and tight to her sternum. Once there she intertwined her fingers with his. Daryl let her take his hand and, when it reached its destination he let out a short breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and settled close to her body. His chest to her back.

"Goodnight Daryl," Carol murmured dropping a feather light kiss to their joined hands.

"Goodnight Woman," Daryl softly responded pecking the back of her head with a kiss of his own.

Together they slept peacefully for the first night either one of them could remember.


	2. The Morning After

**OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER - I OWN NONE OF THESE WALKING DEAD CHARACTERS! I JUST PLAY WITH KIRKLAND'S TOYS WHEN HE LEAVES THEM LAYING AROUND ALL SUMMER!**

**ALSO- You guys are amazing! This is my FIRST story on this site and honestly, I didn't expect anybody to pay any attention. Your reviews have been beyond kind and to have so many people following it, so fast, is a completely unexpected surprise. You guys have made my day. **

**Without further ado; a little fluff and some character development to get you through til the upcoming crescendo of action begins. :)**

Carol woke first. It was a rarity. Most days, in the past, Daryl had been up before dawn. Carol would wake to the almost imperceptible sound of his feet hitting the floor as he dropped from the bunk above her. It always amazed her; how he was able to drop the distance with almost no sound. She would pretend to stay asleep while he shuffled about their cell, dressing and preparing for the day waiting for her favorite part, their daily ritual. He would come to the side of her bunk and stand so close she could hear his breath before tapping her arm slightly. "Wake up woman," he would whisper, "gotta feed all these parasites." Every morning since he moved in, the same thing, the same tap, the same touch. She lived for that moment of shared intimacy and thought that it would always be the high point of her days to come. Carol had thought life could not get any better. Carol had been wrong; it had gotten so much better.

This morning Carol woke first. They had barely moved during the night. His right hand had drifted down, only slightly, and now spanned her upper abdomen just below her breasts. There was a pressure there and Carol realized that, unlike last night when she had actively taken his hand, now he was actively holding her. The roles had been reversed. A school girl giggle and open smile suddenly escaped from Carol's lips as the gravity of her situation settled on her. She quickly clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle the noise as Daryl shifted behind her pressing her ever closer to his body. When he did she felt _him._ Pressed firmly, lengthwise, into the cleft of her ass, she could feel his morning wood.

'Shit,' Carol thought silently cursing predictable male anatomy. She had just gotten through to him last night, just broken that barrier and, if he woke now, she was sure he would run, or apologize, or something else equally awkward. Carol chewed her bottom lip as she pondered her situation. Ever so slowly, trying to move as little as possible, she worked her pillow out from under her head. Once she had the pillow securely clutched in her left hand in front of her body she reached behind her with her right hand and, ever so lightly, brushed the shell of Daryl's right ear with her fingertips. She heard him 'humph' in his sleep and his grip only tightened on her torso. Irritated Carol pursed her lips and tried again. This time she let her fingers linger just inside the curve of the shell. Jackpot. Daryl 'humphed' again and reached back with his right hand to brush away whatever imaginary bug his sleep addled brain told him was on his ear. With his right hand otherwise occupied Carol reached up quickly and grasped the support bar on the underside of the top bunk pulling herself directly up with her heels still resting on the bed. Simultaneously she placed the pillow where her torso had been and then, gleefully, watched as Daryl's arm came back around the pillow and pulled it close to his face breathing in her scent in his uninterrupted unconsciousness. Ever so carefully Carol walked her hands down the underside of the top bunk, curling her body as she went, until she was able to lightly step off the end and onto the floor. Quite pleased with herself Carol smiled over at Daryl's sleeping form. He may be the best hunter left in the world but, he had nothing on her twelve years of practice getting out of bed without waking Ed.

Carol met Beth on her way to the bathroom. The two women chattered lightly about the upcoming day and, after Carol brushed her teeth, she asked Beth to please get the coffee on for breakfast as she wanted to check on Alice before she started the Oatmeal.

Beth studied her feet momentarily and Carol raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I, um, I," Beth began with her eyes still firmly glued to the floor. "Can you do the coffee?"

Carol was taken back, the girl had always been eager to learn. "I guess," Carol replied. "Is there a reason?"

"Um, Merle," Beth whispered, "Merle says I burn it."

"Merle," it wasn't really a question or a statement on Carol's behalf; just Merle's name with a note of incredulity in her voice. "Merle Dixon says you burn the coffee? And, you're worried about that?"

Beth met Carol's gaze now. There was a small fire behind her eyes like a low burning gas flame. "I want him to be happy."

"Why?" Carol couldn't help the question, it just popped out.

Beth scrunched up her face in a sudden burst of anger, "Because he's trying and we should too," she spat. Her little fists were clenched to her side Carol thought for all the world Beth was going to stomp out of the bathroom. Surprisingly her face relaxed and she seemed to draw on some inner calm before repeating the words, "because he's trying."

Beth dropped her toothbrush into to her toiletries bag and began to walk out of the bathroom. Carol reached out and stopped the girl with a hand lightly on her shoulder. "How about I walk you through it?" Carol asked. "That way he can know you made it and hopefully, since 'he's trying,' he'll realize that you put in the effort to make it better." Beth graced Carol with one of her beatific smiles and nodded her head. "I'll meet you down in the kitchen in a few, I still need to check on Alice. Just boil the water and I'll walk you through the rest when I get down there."

"Thanks," Beth breathed.

"Anytime sweetie."

Unwilling to chance waking up Daryl, Carol left her bag of toiletries and her small pile of dirty clothes in the bathroom against the wall and made her way down to the children's cells to check on Alice. She found the girl awake, in the same clothes as yesterday, sitting against the wall and staring at her Father's bottom bunk.

Carol entered slowly looking for any sign of recognition from the twelve year old girl. When Carol saw no inclination of movement from Alice she closed the space between them and slid down the wall to sit next to her on the floor. Together they stared at the empty bunk. After several minutes Alice slid her hand into Carols lap and Carol let Alice lightly rest the fingers of her right hand against the palm of Carol's left.

"You sleep?"

No response.

"I could wash those sheets for you, if you want."

Alice stiffly shook her head 'no.'

"Okay."

Silence

"I could use some help this morning, if you're up to it."

Silence

Carol let the girl softly draw, with her fingertips, intricate patterns on the palm of her hand.

"Alice"

No Response

"I know I said 'if you're up to it' but, I really do need some extra help in the kitchen. I was planning on getting you started there today anyway. After we're done with breakfast Karen and Sasha are going to help you guys (she meant the 'kids' but, refrained from using the term in this moment) get showers. I'd hate for you to miss out. You know how Rick is about letting anyone shower alone. Then, after, if you'd like to be alone some more, I'm sure everyone would understand."

This time Alice turned her head to meet Carol's gaze. Her light green eyes dry and rimmed with red; echoes of a haunted soul too broken for such a young girl. This time, Alice nodded her head.

"Alright then," Carol said through a tight smile. Carol wiped her hands absently on her thighs and then stood. Turning she extended a hand to Alice who took the help standing. Together they walked towards the kitchen in a mutually understood silence.

In the kitchen Carol found Beth softly cooing to Judith as she bounced from one foot to the other trying to get the baby to take her bottle. Together the two women and the girl set to making breakfast and coffee for the prison. Carol let Alice stir the mammoth pot of oatmeal while she instructed Beth on the finer points of coffee mass production.

"See this valve here?" Carol asked while pointing to the clear plastic knob on the top of the thirty gallon stainless steel pot.

Beth nodded.

"When you see the coffee start to splash up inside there you turn off the heat right away. Then," Carol continued, "you bring this lever up from the bottom."

Beth nodded again dutifully watching Carol's every move.

"That way the grinds don't sit on the hot metal bottom and burn," Carol finished with a smile as she clipped the lever to the top of the pot.

Merle poked his head through the kitchen's serving window and gave the women a wide grin as he set his metal coffee cup down with a 'tink' on stainless steel counter. "Did I hear somthin' about coffee?" he asked.

Beth shifted Judith to Carol's outstretched arms with a smile and quickly took Merle's cup. "Yeah, I just finished learning about the 'grind lever,'" she babbled. "I think you'll really like it today," she said proudly as she filled Merle's tin cup and slid it back across the counter.

Merle didn't seem to notice the youngest Greene girls' exuberance but, was lost in his own thoughts. When he brought the cup to his lips he groaned out loud and an expression of physical pleasure crossed his face as he closed his eyes savoring the taste. "Did good today ladies," he said raising the cup in acknowledgement.

Beth practically glowed.

"Seen my brother?" Merle took another sip of his coffee and let out a second groan. Beth thought she would remember that sound for the rest of her life; her imagination logging it for future use.

"He's in our cell," Carol offered.

"Ain't up?" Merle asked setting down his cup.

"No, I was letting him sleep," Carol replied.

"He sick?"

"Don't think so," Carol responded, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth, "just letting him rest for once."

Merle gave a soft humph and turned to leave. "Beth helped," Carol called after him.

"Hmm,?" Merle asked turning halfway around.

"With the coffee," Carol elaborated, "Beth helped with the coffee. Its gonna be her from now on, doing it, just so you know."

Merle Dixon was not a man of subtlety and was genuinely confused as to why this information would be pertinent to him but, he raised the tin cup in acknowledgement all the same. "Well, okay then," he said turning back to head off in search of his brother, "Way to go Beth."

Beth exhaled a deep breath she didn't know she'd been holding as she watched the big man walk away. He did things to her just by being there, unintentional things, things she was unfamiliar with, but, things she could not seem to get past all the same. _Things_. Beth bit her lip savoring the image of Merle as he left the dining area letting the door bang shut behind him.

Carol covered her mouth stifling a chuckle. Beth's head snapped around to meet Carol's mirthful gaze. "What," Beth asked with irritation grating the edges of her voice. "He's trying, like I said. He's being nice."

"You like him," Carol chuckled shifting Judith to the other hip.

"So what if I do?" Beth shot back. "I know he's older but, so what if I do?"

"You won't hear anything out of me, hun, don't worry," Carol softly responded shifting Judith again so she could check the biscuits in the oven. "My first boyfriend was thirty-six and I was eighteen. He was so handsome and twice my age! My Mother nearly had a fit when she found out but, he treated me right, never hit me, took me to nice places," Carol smiled to herself as she rolled the memory around, "was a real decent guy. He appreciated me, for what I had to offer." Carol pulled the biscuits out of the oven and turned the burners off. Then she reached over to the propane tank and screwed the knob to the off position. "But," she continued, "A word of advice. If you're gonna pursue _him_, Merle, tell your Daddy and Maggie before they catch you with your mouth hangin' open like that watching him walk away."

Beth blushed furiously and began to hurriedly drop the cooling biscuits into large baskets for the tables.

"Beth and Merle sittin' in a tree," a lilting thin voice from the opposite side of the kitchen barely audible caught the attention of both women. They had completely forgotten about silent Alice slowly stirring the oatmeal. "K-i-s-s-i-n-g," Alice sang as she cocked her head to look over at her shoulder at the women. A tiny smile threatened the edge of Alice's mouth, "First comes love, then comes marriage, then…."

Beth sprang into action a bright smile on her face as she lunged toward Alice, "Don't you dare finish that sentence," She chided. Beth grabbed both sides of the girl's ribs and began to tickle her as the girls devolved into furious laughter.

It was the best sound Carol had heard all morning.

Daryl woke to the smell of Carol but, not Carol, and there were pots and pans? Daryl's brow knitted together as he opened his eyes to way too much light and examined his surroundings looking for the metal clanging noise he couldn't place. Merle stood in the doorway to his cell running an empty tin cup back and forth over the bars.

"Wakey wakey Little Brother. You gonna sleep the day away? You sick?"

"Naw, Merle, knock that shit off," Daryl muttered. As he stood he launched the pillow he grabbed from the top bunk at his brother. Merle dodged it easily.

"Tell me you didn't crawl into Mouse's bed after she left for breakfast. That would be just pathetic. Did you lay pipe last night? That why you're down there?"

"Ain't none of your business," Daryl rooted around in his open bag of clothes before settling on a sleeveless button up and a tank undershirt. He hurriedly began to change as his brother filled him in on the morning's watch report and gave him hell for sleeping in. Normally he would have been more reserved about stripping out of his clothes in front of someone but, he and Merle had shared a room for the first twelve years of his life and he had long since done away with anything resembling modesty when it came to his brother. Besides, with Merle's huge form blocking the doorway it wasn't like anyone else would see in anyway.

Merle was finishing up his dialogue and Daryl caught him saying, "They've got peach oatmeal and fresh biscuits for breakfast. Figured I otta wake your lazy ass up before all the good coffee is gone too. Beth made it with help this morning. Sure hope she remembers how again tomorrow." Merle gave a lopsided grin watching his brother tie his boots, "You know teach that little thing how to cook, I might just have to go after that."

Daryl cocked his eyebrow at his brother, "She's half your age man. Sides, Rick would haul you all the way back to Atlanta and chain you to another roof if you tried, if Maggie didn't kill you first."

"Probably right," Merle said with a sigh, "but," Merle bit his lip pondering this thought; a look of lust darkening his gaze before he stopped himself from finishing his thought out loud. "Rick wants to talk to us too. Something about a hospital that he doesn't thinks been cleared out yet. He…."

Merle never had a chance to finish his sentence. A piercing scream cut through the prison in those early morning hours. Waking those who were still asleep and gripping those with panic who were awake. "Daddy," the woman's voice screamed. "Daddy, we need you!" It was Beth Greene. Merle's forgotten coffee cup fell to the cell floor as he and Daryl raced toward the kitchen.


	3. The Empty Inhaler

**Disclaimer Disclaimer Disclaimer - I am far too tired to think of even one clever thing to say here. Suffice it to say if I were Kirkland, and owned any of these characters, I would not work and could pay people to clean my house and make my husband dinner so I could be lost in TWD dead world at more reasonable times of the day, i.e. - not only after I've put the kids to bed leaving the hours of 9pm - midnight. But, I don't want to sound like I'm griping! I have found more joy in this little project over the last three days than I have in writing over the last year so, please stick with me. We only have one more chapter and then off on the road we go, where the real action begins...just needed a little heart string pulling incentive to get things headed that way. Enjoy!**

Beth Greene was a child of joy. Even as a baby she was happy; even during the apocalypse she tried. Her father used to brush and braid her hair before church and read to her from Galatains Chapter 5:

'But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.'

"That's you Beth-e," Hershel would mummer, "You've got all the fruits and the rest of us just rest under your branches. You, my darling Angel, have got a way of bringing the joy in anything to the world."

Beth never paid much attention to her father's praise on this aspect. It seemed so, hollow, in the world that was, so useless. But, now, after humanity had been dealt such a crushing blow, Beth had begun to see the use in her joy. She was able to make sorrowful people smile, listless people clap their hands, and fill the quiet nights with her haunting voice to comfort those who were alone. Her joy served a purpose now.

So, when Beth saw the opportunity to make the freshly orphaned Alice smile, she pounced and tickled the girl like her life was dependent on the outcome. Alice lost the spoon into the pot of oatmeal and began to squeal under Beth ministrations. Beth heard Carol start to giggle behind her and joined in the laughter until, she realized it was only her and Carol laughing.

Alice had doubled over Beth's hands and was clutching onto them tightly. As Beth became suddenly silent she heard a noise from girl that sounded like wind through a length of pvc pipe, then silence, then the noise again this time with an accompanying rattle.

"Alice," Beth said concerned, "Alice, are you okay?"

Carol stepped forward holding Judith out for Beth to take. Carol lightly placed her hand on Alice's shoulder just above where Beth's still rested on her ribs. "Alice," Carol tried. "Can you hear me?"

Carol knelt down and looked up into the wide panicked eyes of the girl, listening as she took another painfully stuttering breath. "Alice, what's wrong? Did you get bit yesterday?" Carol asked with the least amount of accusation possible.

The girl shook her head as she took another wheezing rattling breath and moved her hands from Beth to the collar of her shirt pulling at it as if it was choking her.

"Are you allergic to something?" Carol tried while taking Alice's hand into hers.

Alice shook her head again and moved her palms to rest on the top of her head like she was being arrested. "A," she started, "a-a-a-s-m"

"Asthma," Beth jumped in.

Carol began to pat the girl's pockets looking for the tell tale little canister that Sophia's friend had always carried with her. "Where's your inhaler hun? Is it in your cell?"

Alice shook her head looking even more afraid. "Em-em-em," she stuttered

"Empty," Carol filled in the color draining from her face. "Beth," she said turning slightly, "Get your Father, NOW!"

Beth ran from the kitchen with Judith screaming for her Daddy.

Daryl rounded the bend to the kitchen first, bow extended. Merle was an inch off his heels with a large serrated buck knife in his left hand. Seven or eight Woodbury residents were right behind them; their curiosity overcoming common sense in their need to 'see' what the fuss was about.

"Walkers," Daryl barked brushing past Beth and eyeballing the cracked open door critically.

"No," Beth interjected quickly. "Alice, the girl who was helping with Breakfast, I was tickling her and there was an accident and now she can't breathe and I think she has asthma and we don't have an inhaler and," Beth gasped for air, "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry I just wanted her to be happy." Beth launched herself, with Judith, into Merle's startled arms and began to sob openly.

Merle held his Buck knife and his stump aloft unsure what to do. He met Daryl's eyes above the head of the sobbing woman child and Daryl just shrugged his shoulders.

"She die, turn?" Daryl asked popping the door open.

"No," Beth cried into Merle's chest, "but, I don't know what to do. Where's Daddy?"

"I reckon he's behind us darlin'," Merle drawled patting Beth on the back lightly, "You woke the whole damn prison. Those that weren't already up that is. Come on, sweetie, let's go find him and have him get the lead out."

While Merle took Beth to locate Herschel Daryl pushed through the door into the outer dining room and then walked into the kitchen. Once there, he found Carol sitting on the floor with Alice in her lap. She had the girls' hands up in the air and appeared to be stretching Alice's chest up and out by pushing on the girl's back with her own chest. Carol looked up to meet Daryl's gaze and Daryl saw the naked fear in her eyes.

Despite her obvious panic Carol spoke warmly and evenly from her place under Alice. "Daryl, how nice of you to come so quickly, where's Herschel?"

"Behind us," Daryl rasped.

"You sure?" Carol asked.

"Merle's making sure."

"Can you turn off those burners?"

Daryl snapped off the flames under the oatmeal and screwed the propane canister closed.

Carol nodded and went back to taking deep even breaths behind Alice. Daryl realized she was trying to model calm breathing for the girl. In sharp contrast to Carol's smooth and even in and out Alice seemed to be fighting herself for every inhalation, her face a mask of panic and fear. Daryl hopped onto the counter and watched Carol work to calm the girl by example. Something tantamount to pride at her quiet resolve prickled the inside of his chest as he observed her even demeanor.

"Move out the way fuckers!" Merle was bellowing from outside the kitchen. "Fucking move, crowd of fucking people! Ain't nothin' to see. Let the doc through!"

As Hershel came swinging through a space in the crowd and into the kitchen he smiled warmly at Carol. Maggie came in directly behind him holding his medical bag and a rolling oxygen tank. Beth was behind her holding Judith. Merle utilized his massive build to block the doorway behind them and glowered angrily at the gawkers. "Let's see what we've got here," Hershel said evenly as he used the edge of the stove to leverage himself onto the floor next to Carol. "Maggie, hand me my stethoscope."

As Hershel began to listen to the girl's chest Daryl couldn't help by notice how Alice's head lolled back onto Carol's shoulder. 'Exhaustion,' Daryl silently observed, 'shit, she's just gonna tucker out and quit.'

"Let's get some O2 started," Hershel said looking up toward Maggie. "Tip her forward," Hershel said softly to Carol.

Carol complied and Hershel listened intently to Alice's back.

"No inhaler," Hershel said with an eyebrow raised.

Carol shook her head.

Herschel's face became drawn. "Alice honey," Herschel used both of his hands to hold Alice's head upright so he could look her in the eye. "Alice, I need you to concentrate on breathing out hard, like you're blowing out a birthday candle. You're not moving any air in your lower lungs at all. I'm hearing nothing down there, not even wheezing. You need to get the old air out so new air can get in."

Alice nodded weakly. Her face had gone from fear and panic to fatigue as every wheezing inhalation seemed to only serve in draining her further.

"What she need," Daryl queried from his spot on the counter. "Pharmacy, its not far from here. I could make the run and be back in less than an hour. That might have what she needs."

Herschel looked to Maggie and Daryl watched in horror as the farmer's eldest daughter covered her mouth to stifle a small sob. The conversation had been silent but, the meaning, was understood by Maggie's reaction; the girl didn't have an hour. This was apocalypse math. One dying girl who wouldn't survive the time it would take for the run did not equal risking the life of an able bodied fighter. They canceled each other out. A zero sum equation.

"FUCK," Daryl picked up the nearest plate and chucked it into the kitchen wall screaming as it broke. Beth turned away from the scene and ducked under Merle's shoulder not able to watch any longer.

Daryl raged slamming his hands down on the counter and keeping his back turned from the gut wrenching scene before him. His heartbeat pounding in his ears, his own breath coming in short puffs as he tried to bring his emotions back under control. It wasn't fucking right, it wasn't, God Damn it it wasn't right. First the little girl AND her brother, Alice's Father, (What was his name? Daniel, David, something with a D.), now, Alice. And, not even by a walker, not by something he could fight but, by something so stupid, so fucking trivial, so, FUCK! When did his tiny world get so out of his control? This would kill Carol. Three kids in two days. Fuck. Fuck. "Fuck," this time the curse came out only in a soft puff of air as Daryl leaned his head against the mammoth economy coffee pot. "Fuck," he breathed.

"We should move her up somewhere more comfortable," Herschel said slowly. "Somewhere she'll be," he searched for an appropriate adjective but, was only able to repeat, "comfortable."

"Fuck," Daryl repeated to the coffee pot.

"Maggie can you pick her up,?" Herschel asked.

Maggie handed the medical bag off to Beth before giving a tight smile as she stooped to put her arms around Alice.

"Fuck," Daryl whispered. It had become a mantra.

Carol covered her face with her hand attempting to not let Alice see her tears as Maggie began to lift the girl.

"FuuuCK ME WAIT," Daryl suddenly yelled at the coffee pot. Maggie froze in a crouch next to Carol with Alice in her arms.

"Son?" Herschel raised the end of the word with his voice posing it as a question.

Merle turned in the door frame, "What you got boy?"

Daryl began to slam open the cupboards knocking mixing bowls and various dishes back and forth inside. "Where are the cups?" He screamed slamming open door after door.

"Everybody has got their own," Beth answered almost too quietly to be heard. "The extras are on the serving table."

Daryl hopped the counter easily sliding across the steel and through the serving window into a crowd of Woodbury gawkers in the dining room. "Move," he bellowed snatching a cup from the table. He slid back through the window and filled the cup with steaming black coffee from the pot.

"What's he doing?" Beth quietly asked Merle as Daryl began to blow on the coffee.

"Told him it was good this morning," Merle offered shrugging, "guess he needed to try it."

Carefully Daryl crouched down with the cup and slid next to Maggie. "Hold 'er head up." Daryl softly instructed Carol. Carol complied and Daryl was relieved to see that Alice's eyes were still open. "This 'ere," Daryl said quietly to Alice, "This 'ere is good medicine. I guarantee if you do what I say and drink it all down you're gonna feel lots better." Alice wheezed in response. "I dunna' wanna choke ya'. So you're gonna have to tell me when to let you drink." Alice wheezed again. Doubt began to cloud Daryl's mind. Was she too far gone? Then, so lightly any other person might have missed it, Alice touched Daryl's leg purposefully with just one finger of a hand that hung limply at her side. Daryl took it as a signal and pushed the cup to her lips tipping it just slightly.

Some ran out the sides but, Daryl watched carefully and was rewarded with the slight twitch of Alice's throat mussels swallowing. And, so they went:

Touch

Sip

Swallow

Wheeze

Touch

Sip

Swallow

Wheeze

Touch

Sip

Swallow

Wheeze

Daryl watched patiently for any sign of affirmative progress from the girl.

Touch

Sip

Swallow

Cough

Cough

Cough

"Good," Herschel boomed. "Get 'em open girl."

Daryl looked over into Herschel's face and relaxed as he saw a tentative smile began to cover the man's mouth. Maggie had gently set Alice back down in Carol's lap and Alice continued to cough as Herschel listened carefully to her back. Daryl stayed crouched, ready to coax a second cup of coffee, that Merle had handed him, down her throat.

"What 'ya hear old man?" Merle asked as he leaned down from the spot he had resumed at the door.

"Crackels," said Herschel mater of factually.

"Crackles," Merle repeated. "That good?"

Beth squeezed close to him in the door frame and spoke up directly to Merle, "Better. Means its getting better. Air is moving in and out."

"I'll be damned little brother." Merle ran his hand back and forth over his scruff, "How the Hell you think of that?"

Daryl looked up at his big brother as Alice softly covered his hand with hers beginning to puppet his arm and dictate the movements of the coffee cup more directly. "Maurice and Trina Kinsey," he said flatly. "The two youngins that lived out near PawPaw. They had that shack. Up north of the creek. Trina had asthma. Their Grandma couldn't afford a doctor but, the midwife from Athens told them to give her coffee. Worked sometimes."

A darkness clouded Merle's eyes.

"Did you know them too?" Beth asked sweetly.

Merle remained silent.

"Merle," Beth repeated.

"He didn't know 'um," Daryl offered.

"Why not?" Beth asked, now genuinely curious.

"They were black folk." Daryl's statement hung in the air without prejudice or slander. It was a statement. Nothing more intended. He regretted it almost immediately. Daryl had only gotten to know Maurice because the boy had real fishing hooks, not the twisted metal aluminum Merle and he crafted out of salvaged pop cans. At six years of age Daryl had spent many a lazy summer evening fishing with Maurice while his sister had climbed nearby trees. Of course that was before his Father had known. In one terror filled night in August he had promised his Father he would never go north of the creek again. He didn't fault Merle for his prejudice of the family. Daryl knew Merle had gotten some of the worst beatings of his life for associating with coloreds. Some of those beating had been for Daryl's indiscretions. Their Father 'teaching them,' with kick after kick to Merle's ribs, that Merle should set a better example for his little brother. But, he doubted this was the time or place to explain this fact of their childhood. Merle saved him the decision by leaving the kitchen so quickly no one had the time to register his aim before the dining room door slammed behind him.

Alice now held her fourth cup of coffee between two shaky palms and Daryl took the opportunity to stretch his legs, knees popping loudly as he finally stood.

"Maggie," Herschel directed, "please go ahead and take Alice back to her cell. Make sure the oxygen goes with. Beth…." Beth turned from where she had been absently staring at the shut dining room door. "Beth could you go with and just sit with her. See if you can get Alice to eat something. Take breakfast for both of you with you." Beth nodded casting a worried glance over her shoulder towards the dining room door before pulling down two bowls and dishing cold oatmeal for Alice and herself. It was trick with Judith on her hip but, she had had ample opportunity to practice with the infant and was able to balance the bowls easily in one hand while Judith leaned in against her side tucked under her right arm.

"Maggie, when you're done getting Alice situated come over to the library. Rick was saying this morning, before we all got um," Herschel looked down toward Alice and chose his words carefully, "otherwise occupied, that he wanted to discuss a hospital run with us. I think this only further brings to light the necessity of the errand."

Herschel pulled himself up on the stove and balanced easily on his crutches. "Carol, Daryl, that means both of you too. Sasha can handle breakfast this once. And, Beth," Beth turned to face her father, "take Judith with you. I'll send Carl by for her later." Beth nodded and followed Maggie, with Alice in her arms, out through the crowd of gawkers that parted easily around them.

As if on cue, Sasha appeared in the kitchen and re-lit the burners under the oatmeal fishing the spoon out of the forgotten muck. Tyreese was in the dining area coaxing people to form an actual line for food instead of a mass of lookey loos near the window.

Daryl extended a hand and helped Carol to her feet. Carol, from lack of food or too much excitement for one…. eon, stumbled as she stood half collapsing into Daryl's hard body. Daryl let out a soft groan as Carol's body pressed against his. He, instinctively, banded his arm around her waist to steady her and Carol let her head drop to his shoulder with a sigh. "Thank you," her words were a choked whisper against his ear.

"S'okay," he mumbled into her neck.

"No," she whispered forcefully, "Thank you."

"Mmmm," he grunted nodding his head.

Carol stood back a little placing her palms flat against his chest as she steadied herself. She looked over her shoulder and made sure Sasha was concentrating on dishing oatmeal into proffered bowls. Carol took a calculated risk as she leaned forward quickly and pecked Daryl on the cheek. She met his eyes and seemed satisfied with what she saw there. Turning, Carol left the kitchen first en route to the library.

The soft hint of a smile ghosted over Daryl's face as he snitched a biscuit and broke a piece off into mouth. 'Today is gonna be alright,' he thought as he chewed. He swiped two more biscuits and rolled them into a dish towel before heading off to the library himself. Damn woman hadn't eaten a thing. Always looking out for others, never herself. He was gonna have to try and talk to her about that, again. If he couldn't get her to stop running into to danger he was, at least, going to make damn sure she ate.

**Next chapter should be out Sunday guys. "The bad run," is well underway and developing quickly. Once again I truly appreciate your words of encouragement and 'follows.'**

**Hope everyone has a great weekend!**


	4. The Dwindling Stockpile

**OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER TIME - I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT A 1998 BUICK AND A LUST FOR DARYL DIXON ARM PORN! TWD CHARACTERS CONTAINED WITHIN ARE NOT MINE AND I DO NOT PROFIT FROM THEM IN ANY WAY!**

**Author's Note: I know I said it would be Sunday but, "The Bad Run" was 'running away with me! So, I decided to split off this library meeting with our Walking Dead group as a stand alone. Hope you enjoy this short glimpse of character development and scene set up for tomorrow's run! - Cheers.**

Rick rubbed his hands over his face and neck trying desperately to just wake up. It wasn't that he was asleep. In point of fact he hadn't been asleep for three days and it was beginning to ware him thin. Even standing he felt his eyes closing for longer than they should. Each blink was slightly longer than the last. Each breath slightly shallower. Each movement slightly slower.

"Rick," Herschel barked from across the library. "Sit down before you fall down man."

"In fine," Rick responded thickly. He began to bounce lightly from one foot to the other in an effort jostle a few remaining brain cells loose for just another hour and then he'd let himself take a nap, just a little nap, before afternoon watch.

Herschel had already been in the library with Maggie and Glen when Rick had finally made it to their meeting area. Every single person he ran into had questions about what happened in the kitchen. He didn't have answers to give them. He had spent most of last night and this morning walking and re-walking the fences. Making sure. No more accidents. So when Beth's scream had alerted the prison to the situation in the kitchen Rick hadn't even been in the prison. He had been outside, in the cemetery, apologizing to their dead, making promises. Promises that he wasn't even really sure he could keep.

Rick had no idea anything had happened in the kitchen until people started asking him to explain the commotion. On his way down to the dining area to investigate he had passed Merle in the hall.

"What's going on down there?"

"Nothin' now," Merle mumbled as he passed.

"Wait," Rick commanded as he put his hand on Merle's bicep to stop him.

Merle re-coiled as if he'd been burned by the touch sneering as he turned back to face Rick. "Best keep your hands to yourself," he spat.

Rick had long sense given up on deciphering Merle's emotions. "What happened?" Rick asked, keeping his body and tone even; careful not to offer any response to Merle's unsolicited venom.

"Girl couldn't breath 'n Daryl fixed it," Merle grunted before pulling himself out of Rick's reach and continuing on down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"Kill some shit," Merle muttered as he continued down the hall away from Rick.

Rick could have sworn he heard Merle say something like 'should have known that' as he continued to lumber away but, the comment obviously wasn't directed to him so, he let him continue on to the outer fences to vent his frustrations on their ample supply of morning walkers.

By the time Rick got to the kitchen Sasha was serving up the rest of breakfast and filled him in on what she knew.

By the time Rick got to the library he felt like he was walking through mud. Herschel was right, he should 'sit before he fell.' Rick sat down.

Carol came in next followed by Daryl, who had retrieved Merle from the fences for the meeting.

"Alright," Rick started, "We've obviously had a breakdown somewhere in our system. I'm putting together a new watch schedule that will….." Rick looked from his notes to see Michonne enter so silently he had almost missed her. The Iaidoka had found her place in the prison over the past year but, he had stopped inviting her to meetings as much as he used to. Not because he didn't want her there but, quite conversely, because he did. Every time he bothered to invite her she seemed to be otherwise occupied. When he conveniently forgot to extend her the invitation she always seemed to creep in, cat like, to find her place at the back of the room. Michonne regarded Rick with wide eyes. Watching, always watching. A man could die looking into those eyes. Quite literally. Empty yet, soulful. Deadly.

"The new watch schedule will up fence patrols. I want to make use of the older kids from Woodbury. Carl's been taking watch shift now for over three months. By himself. There is no reason we can't utilize our new residents the same way." Rick paused and looked around gaging the reaction. Carol looked uneasy but, remained silent. "And, Beth," Rick continued.

"No," Maggie interjected.

Herschel reached over and covered Maggie's hand with his. "Rick and I already talked about this," he said softly. "We're not saying she goes out on runs but, as much as it pains me to say," Herschel took a ragged breath, "She is almost eighteen now, if not eighteen already. It's not right for us to go around risking the lives of others and not have her, at least, take a patrol shift. Besides, you've been working with her on her aim. She's capable Maggie, give her credit."

Maggie's mouth pursed into a grimace of irritation at her father's words. This was something he should have told her before hand.

Glen reached over to take Maggie's other hand. "Won't be so bad, maybe you two can take some patrols together."

Maggie took both her hands back and crossed them defiantly in front of her chest.

"I could work with her some," Merle started, "on knives and stuff."

Daryl shot his brother an incredulous look.

"What?" Merle barked taking in Daryl's response.

"That's all right Son," Herschel said calmly. "We can probably handle it."

Maggie's face was scrunched up into a sneer, like she had just smelled something awful in Merle's offer. She looked as if she might throw up at the suggestion.

"Anyway," Rick said loudly bringing the groups focus back to the front. "Beth will start taking patrols this week. I'll put her into the rotation with you, Maggie, to start but, then I'm hoping we can work her up to manning a guard tower by herself, soon." When Maggie didn't respond Rick plowed on opening a large map of Georgia on the table. "Oliver and Quinn," the group recognized the names as belonging to the two sixteen year old boys from Woodbury, "have started running recon for me."

Daryl grunted in disapproval and Rick met his gaze coolly. "They were gonna leave," Rick continued, "wanted to try their luck alone." Carol covered her mouth as a sharp cry of surprise escaped her lips. "I've never tried to keep anyone from leaving but, given their age, I wanted to give them a job, one that would satisfy their need to roam but, give them a purpose to come back." This time it was Merle's turn to grunt disapprovingly. "What they've found has proved useful," Rick barreled on pointing to two circled areas on the map. "This pharmacy here is the one we've been utilizing for most of our day to day stuff. But, the stockpile of meds and first aid supplies we have on hand is dwindling, fast. With our new tenants it wont last us another week. Plus, there are things, specific needs, that people have. We've got folks who need nitro-glycerin, blood pressure meds,"

"Inhalers," Carol offered.

"Inhalers," Rick affirmed. "We need to hit a bigger pharmacy. I'm thinking a hospital. Here," Rick said pointing to the other circle on the map. It's in Dahlonega. Lumpkin County. It's a small hospital, only fifty beds or so. Small town. Not many walkers. The boys found it on recon last week but, there were too many walkers around the building for them to handle on their own. They did say the doors were chained shut. Looks relatively untouched."

Daryl spun the map examining the distance. He spanned his fingers between the two points. "That's over a hundred and twenty miles, if we go through Atlanta. More if we have to go around. I'm willing to run it but," Daryl chewed his thumbnail deep in thought momentarily, "with the traffic snarls I could make it in a day on my bike but, I couldn't carry hardly nothin' back."

"My bike," Merle corrected.

"Wanna ride Bitch?" Daryl offered.

Merle slugged his brother half heartedly on the shoulder. "Shut the fuck up man."

Daryl turned his attention back to the map as Rick spoke up again, "I want to send a truck. Make a large haul and then chain the doors back behind us. Hopefully dissuade other looters so we can utilize the site again later."

"Then we're gonna have to go around," Daryl said continuing to scrutinize the map.

"You'll loop it to the west," Rick said pointing out the route. "If you leave before early this afternoon you should be able to make it before nightfall. There are some campgrounds outside the city. You can stay there tonight and come back by way of Douglasville. Be back by tomorrow evening."

Daryl nodded.

"I want to go," Carol said quietly.

"No," Daryl barked entirely too loudly. Everyone in the room had stopped looking at the map to look at Daryl.

"Yes," Carol said firmly. "I've been working the most with the kids. I know what they need. They will talk to me. I'll get a list before we leave, any meds they might not have mentioned when they came in. Any, necessities."

"And, then you can give it to me," Daryl returned just as firmly.

"I hate to say it son but, it's a good idea," Herschel offered. Daryl shot him an evil glare. "She's been working with me evenings in the clinic."

"Of course she has," Daryl said throwing up his arms. "Ain't a damn thing in this prison you people don't have her doin'"

"She's got a real knack for clinical medicine," Herschel continued undeterred, "and a good memory for meds. There might be things she'd see and know we need that aren't on the list. Things we didn't think of."

"Then why don't you offer Maggie?" Daryl countered. "She's got a mind for this doctoring shit!" Carol reached up and put a hand on Daryl's forearm.

"Actually," Herschel said looking to his eldest daughter, "that might not be a bad idea either."

Maggie nodded, "We can all fit in the Tahoe," she offered. "When we get there Carol and I can work the hospital pharmacy. It would go faster with two people. Daryl, you could keep the hall secure while we focus on finding the right stuff."

"He's gonna need a second," Merle said. "I'll back him up."

"Well, then I guess its decided," Rick said.

Daryl scrubbed his scruff with his hands. "Guess so," he said, defeated.

"Make sure you guys get out of here before lunch," Rick offered as the group began to stand a mill out of the door. "Have Beth wrap some jerky up for you."

No one acknowledged him as the room emptied. Rick laid his head down on the table. So tired. There was a soft "plunk" of something hitting the table in front of him.

Rick raised his head to see Michonne standing next to him. She carefully slid a small red and white box, smaller than a deck of playing cards but, a little thicker, across the table to him. Rick picked up the box and examined the writing; "Pro-Air HFA," he read. He opened the box and dumped a small aluminum canister and a plastic holder on to the table.

"For the girl." Michonne spoke so softly Rick had trained his ears to pick up her whispering utterances.

Rick put the parts back into the box and closed it. "Where did you get this?" He asked holding the box up as Michonne turned to leave.

She gave him the briefest wisp of a smile, "Pharmacy."

"I didn't even know you went," he muttered shaking his head.

"That's cause I came back," she said walking out the door.

"Always do," Rick whispered to the empty room.

Rick put his head back down on the table. He was so blessedly tired, so, so tired. With a groan he pushed up from the table and took the little box in his hand. He had to find Beth, she was sitting with the girl Alice, drop the medicine off, post the new watch schedule, and, and, what else?

Oh, that's right, take a nap. Rick chuckled to himself at the absurdity as he left the library. "Yeah right," he said to no one in-particular. "Take a fucking nap."

**Thats it for today - I'm off to take the dog for a walk - Catch you guys tomorrow!**


	5. The Bad Run

**OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER - I OWN NONE OF THE TWD CHARACTERS CONTAINED WITHIN NOR DO I PROFIT FROM THEM IN ANY WAY. **

**SMUT WARNING - THERE IS A VERY BRIEF MASTURBATORY/FONDLING ORGASM SCENE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. IF THAT ISN'T YOUR THING SKIP THE SCENE WITH DARYL AND CAROL IN THE RACK ROOM. - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED SO PLEASE DON'T BALL ME OUT ON PM! ;p**

By Daryl's best guess it was close to noon when Glenn finally finished up packing up the car. He had insisted on putting two extra quarts of oil in the hatchback, 'just in case.' Daryl didn't really have a problem toting along the extra oil and the twenty-five gallon jug of gas. What he had a problem with was the amount of time it took the boy to find the oil. It was ridiculous. When he stormed into the supply shed to show Glenn where the oil was he caught sight of something he could have done his whole life without witnessing; Glenn's naked ass.

"Fuck," Daryl exclaimed throwing his forearm up to shield his eyes as he backed out of the shed. Grumbeling he made his way back to the Tahoe and sat on the front bumper awaiting the rest of the group.

"Seen Maggie," Carol asked as she threw her overnight bag in the back of the SUV.

"Naw," Daryl groused.

"I'll go look for her," Carol said irritably, "we need to get a move on."

"Naw," Daryl repeated. "Give 'er a minute. She's in the shed."

Carol looked toward the shed just in time to see Glen emerge with two quarts of oil held aloft. "Found 'em," he said with a jovial smile.

Maggie emerged a few seconds later tucking in her shirt. Carol gave the couple a knowing smile, "We're only gonna be gone overnight, you know," she told Glenn as he packed the oil in next to the gas jug.

Maggie gave a half smile and Glen blushed furiously.

Merle emerged from the prison last holding a small cloth bag and nothing else. His buck knife was secured on his left hip. A small pistol tucked in the front of his pants and his 'knife prosthetic' on his stump.

"Where's your crap?" Daryl asked his brother.

"Changed ma' drawers. Be good til we get back," Merle answered matter of factly.

"What's in there?" Daryl asked pointing to the sack.

"Jerky and left over biscuits." Merle answered holding up the sack. "Beth put it together fur me," he said smiling. Daryl attempted to swipe the bag and Merle held it away from his grasp. "This 'ere's mine Little Brother. Ya, shoulda got yer own."

Daryl smirked at his brother. He was happy to see him making an effort to fit in, be friendly, jovial, but, this nonsense with Beth would put him back on the outside of their 'extended family' before he ever atoned for his Woodbury sins. "Get in the front," Daryl instructed, changing the subject. "I got the back wit Carol."

It was Merle's turn to smirk now. "Whatever you say Little Brother."

Maggie drove. The first three hours were relatively uneventful. A small herd around Newnan caused them to detour a little east and pass through Marietta. When they hit Alpharetta it was smooth sailing through Cumming on 400.

The brothers smoked in relative silence. Maggie and Carol chose not to add to the comfortable quiet. Carol was going over her list in her head; 'Nitro, Metformin, Glucose Monitoring Strips, Triamt/HCTZ, portable O2, bandages..,' when she felt Daryl take her right hand in his left. She looked down and saw that he had woven his fingers through hers without taking his eyes off some point in the distance out the window. She smiled softly at the ease of this action and squeezed his hand lightly.

They had just passed Music Park Road and could see their destination upcoming on the west when Merle yelled, "Stop!"

Maggie didn't see the spike strips and a sound that echoed like four shot gun blasts ricocheted through the empty suburban addition. The Tahoe skidded first to the left, then the right, and then up on the two driver's side wheels before rolling into the ditch by the side of the road.

Everyone held their breath as the SUV came to a sudden and abrupt stop on the paneling of the driver's side.

"Everyone okay?" Merle said a little more loudly than necessary as he turned around to check on his Brother and Carol.

Carol rubbed her forehead where it had hit her window and her hand came back with blood. She turned her head to look at Daryl who had landed on her in the tumble. "I think so," she said. "You?" She indicated Daryl.

"Ya," he said thickly cracking his neck as he pulled himself towards the open window that was now above them. "Maggie?" Maggie didn't answer immediately and, as Daryl leveraged himself out of the back passenger window, he heard Merle unbuckle his seat belt. "Merle," Daryl said a little more pointedly, "Maggie alright?"

"I'm fine," Maggie suddenly groaned. "Fuck, I can't believe I did that."

"Weren't your fault," Daryl drawled as he turned back and offered Carol a hand to pull her through the window and out of the totaled vehicle. "Damn, Baby, you okay?" Daryl exclaimed as he witnessed Carol's forehead gash for the first time. He pulled Carol up and through the window sitting her on the side of the Tahoe to examine the wound. Daryl removed his bandanna out of his back pocket and pressed it to Carol's forehead, effectively stemming the bleeding.

"I'm fine _muffin_," Merle said with a sardonic smirk as he pulled himself up through his window and turned to retrieve Maggie, "thanks for asking."

Daryl shot his brother a glare.

"Shit," Maggie breathed. Merle had just gotten her through the opening and set her on the side of the vehicle when she saw them. A damn herd. Not huge but, big enough.

Daryl followed her gaze. "Move." The command was a hushed whisper. No other explanation needed.

Carol slid off the side of the ruined Tahoe and into Merle's outstretched arms while Daryl fished the bolt cutters, his pack, and his bow out of the rear window. Maggie took the bolt cutters from Daryl's hand and used them to break out the hatchback window glass before removing her pack and Carol's.

The group crouched behind the Tahoe momentarily taking stock of their options.

Merle pointed toward the hospital, less than three blocks away. "Brick. Best bet," he whispered.

Daryl nodded as he slid his pack on his back. Maggie and Carol followed suit. Daryl took Carol's forearm and pulled her behind him before looking to Merle. "I'll take point," he whispered, "put Maggie in front of you and then cover our six. Stay low, we'll cut through the field." Daryl took two steps before stopping suddenly and looking back towards the group, "no guns." Everyone nodded.

Slowly, silently, the quartet moved from car to car. Crouching, hiding, and waiting on Daryl's signal and Merle's okay before moving on. Carol began to notice the sun dipping lower and lower on the horizon. 'How long had they been doing this? An hour? Two hours?' She thought.

Daryl took out walker after walker as they gained distance, impossibly slowly, to the ambulance bay doors of the hospital. Merle occasionally taking a walker from the back that tried to come around a car or blind building corner.

Finally, in silence, such as they had started, they arrived. Large red letters denoted "EMERGENCY" above the doors and Merle pointed to the left where two 'employee access doors' appeared chained shut. Daryl snapped his fingers lightly and Maggie instinctively handed up the bolt cutters. It only took a minute or two of working the joint back and forth before Daryl reached forward to catch the lock and chain as it fell away.

He passed the bolt cutters back to Maggie before pulling Carol forward to stand next to him. Daryl's jaw looked set and the flash of determination in his features made Carol concerned for their next move. Slowly, soundlessly, Daryl slid his pack off his back and reached over to Carol's back to repeat the action for her. He pushed both packs to the edge of the door before opening it a crack and pushing them inside with his foot. He then took several steadying breaths before removing his knife from it's belt holster. Daryl then held the knife to Carol.

Carol shook her head before beginning to pull her own Winchester blade. Daryl reached out and covered her hand on the hilt at her belt before shaking his head. He pressed the hilt of his knife into her palm. It was much heavier than hers. And, a good seven inches longer.

Carol nodded taking the blade.

She understood.

He wanted her to back him up.

Daryl pushed open the doors. He and Carol entering first. Maggie and Merle backing in behind them.

They were lucky as they pushed into the dimly lit hallway. Three sets of doors. One to the left, one to the right, and one set at the end of the short hallway. Once inside Maggie quickly used her belt to tie the doors shut behind them. Maggie could see the shuffling herd approaching, from the east, through the small safety glass windows in the metal doors. She let out a groan of irritation. The sun was setting, there would be more overnight, they were definitely stuck. Merle grunted, pointing down the short corridor to a set of already closed fire doors in front of them.

"Tie 'em off," Daryl murmured pointing down the hall. Carol reached down and snaked her left hand inside her pack, while keeping her right hand firmly around the hilt of Daryl's blade, and removed a length of bungee cord with a metal hook on either end. Carefully she began to creep down the short hall with Daryl on her left. They passed a lounge area on her right and Carol saw movement out of the corner of her eye through a large picture window that looked into the room.

"Walker," she whispered.

Daryl made a hand movement to Merle who stepped into the lounge area and quickly dispatched the former custodial engineer for the building.

Carol made it to the end of the hallway and, while she kept her attention on the door handle, Daryl turned to face Merle and Maggie at the other end of the hall. He was methodical. No further accidents. Carol quickly threaded the bungee cord through the door handles repeatedly and used the hooks to secure it tightly. Merle closed the distance from the other end of the hall and met his brother at the doorway on the left side of the hall. They stood looking at the closed door shoulder to the shoulder, there were no windows into this room. Finally, Merle put his ear to the metal.

Taking a few seconds, Merle appeared to listen intently. Merle looked to Daryl, shrugging his shoulders, "I got nothing, maybe we should knock."

Daryl snickered.

Merle rapped his metal prosthetic on the door lightly. "Housekeeping," he called with an effeminate lisp.

Groans.

"Good to know I'm not the only one that groans at your jokes," Daryl murmured.

Merle flipped him the bird.

Daryl held up three fingers, then two, then one.

Merle flung the door open swinging it out, into the hall.

Two nurses, an orderly, and one security guard later the group discovered the room on the left was the on call rack room. It boasted several sets of bunk beds and a sink that, no longer, had running water. There was also a small bathroom with a toilet and urinal. The rack room had a very small rectangular window that looked out towards the ambulance bay. After some limited discussion the group decided to cram the human remains in the small bathroom close it off, drag some of the mattresses into the lounge for sleeping, and set a watch next to the window in the rack room.

Carol and Maggie set to work dragging mattresses while Merle and Daryl pulled the walkers into the bathroom.

"Is it just my imagination," Merle huffed, dropping the janitor to the floor where he wedged, unceremoniously, between the toilet bowl and the wall. "Or, have these guys gotten…..jucier…..over the last few months?" As if to exemplify Merle's point the janitor's head snapped back with the force of the drop and cracked open against the toilet's handle. It began to leak something black and nondescript.

Daryl gave a noncommittal shrug. It wasn't Merle's imagination, Daryl knew that much, but, 'juicy?' "Maybe they're rottin," Daryl suggested.

"Just seems to me," Merle continued, using the toe of his boot, to shove the slight body of, what had once been, a female nurse under the urinal, "that, if they get any juicer, they're just gonna start falling apart on they're own."

"Be nice if they did," Daryl offered, "but, don't think that'll really be happening on any sort of scale that's beniftin' us anytime soon."

Together, the brothers closed the bathroom door. After a moments thought Daryl retrieved a black magic marker from his pack and scrawled "bodies inside" across the door.

Maggie reappeared and yawned before stating, rather abruptly, "I'm not changing in front of either of you ya'hos. Sleeping in my clothes but," she motioned to the door, "could you let me alone in here for a second?"

Merle cocked his head.

"Gotta pee," Maggie sighed.

Daryl groaned, "We just filled up the bathroom with dead folk."

"I meant I'll pee in the sink," Maggie said irritably, "better drain anyway but, give me some privacy."

The men and Carol started to leave but, Maggie motioned for Carol to stay. Carol realized, after, that they would both require a little help hopping up onto the tiny sink when their pants were around their ankles. When Carol took her turn she couldn't help but giggle.

Maggie, with her face turned to the wall, for Carol's privacy, smiled. "What?" She asked with amusement in her voice.

"We're stuck in a hospital in podunk Georgia, with no way to get home, during the Zombie Apocalypse and I'm peeing in a sink," Carol snickered.

Maggie snorted staring at the wall.

"I did this once in college," Carol continued, "but, I was drunk."

"I wish I was drunk now," Maggie confided.

"Me too," Carol concluded.

Once the women were done with their business Daryl and Merle took a turn alone in the rack room. Daryl announced that he would take first watch and wake Merle up, 'in a couple,' to take over.

Carol didn't know how long she lay in the lounge, trying like hell to fall asleep. Her skull throbbed and, even though Daryl would not let her see a mirror, she knew an ugly bruise crowned her head. Merle's even and steady light snoring could not drown out Maggie's unconscious mummers. 'Jesus,' Carol thought, 'how the hell can Glenn sleep next to a woman who talks that much in her sleep?' Most of it was unintelligible but, every few seconds, Carol could hear clearly Beth's name. She hadn't talked that much the first winter they'd spent together but, Carol thought remembering, they really hadn't slept that much that first winter either.

Giving up, Carol picked up her thin blanket and left the lounge pushing open the door to the rack room.

Daryl's eyes flicked to the door to register her presence before looking back out the small window. He had pushed one of the bunk beds up next the wall so he could look out the window while seated with his back against the frame the headboard side of the bed. His bow rested on the mattress next to his left hip.

He didn't speak.

Carol crossed the room and sat at the foot of the mattress. Scooching over she looked out the small window. The herd was bigger than any of them had realized. Seven or eight hundred walkers milled around the streets in front of the hospital.

Carol sighed. It had to get better, something had to go right soon.

Daryl's gaze returned to Carol briefly, he still didn't speak but, instead he shifted so he could reach to the bunk above and place his bow on the top mattress. Still at arms reach but, now, he had cleared a spot for her. When she moved to take spot next him he suddenly spread his legs, just a few inches, and patted his inner thigh.

"No pillas'," he drawled. "You'll be more comfortable this way."

Carol smiled, a little self consciously, and crept forward between his legs, lying her head lightly on his inner thigh.

Daryl reached forward and drew the thin blanket up to cover both of them before stopping to brush his thumb lightly over her cheek. "Sleep woman," he commanded softly. Carol turned her head place a kiss on Daryl's palm before burying her face in the inseam of his right thigh and drifting off to sleep.

Daryl watched the herd mill counting the numbers as they dwindled.

400

280

They had come from the west and seemed to be headed east.

170

Daryl heard Carol moan softly in her sleep. His attention snapped back to her sleeping form and he examined her face intently for any sign of distress, he worried she would dream of Ed. Fighting long dead ghosts that still haunted her daily life.

She moaned again and shifted between his legs her face rooting at the juncture of his thighs. The movement caused the blanket to slide slightly to the left, exposing her right hip and hand. Her hand, on the seam of her pants, at her groin. "Fuck me," Daryl breathed. His cock rose quickly as he took a steadying breath. This was wrong, he should wake her. This was only their second night together and neither the time, nor the place, for this. But, her hand, it was _her_ _hand_, he couldn't take his eyes off of it.

She was panting lightly now, her eyes still shut, her mouth open on the cloth of his jeans meer centimeters from his erection.

"Fuck," Daryl breathed again. This was wrong. He reached down with his right hand to gently circle her wrist and move her fingers away. What he didn't account for was the heat.

Radiating off her core, like fire, he felt it as soon as his hand touched hers. Daryl groaned, defeated, his body puppeted by a force older than reason. Desire. He let his fingers softly touch the seam of her jeans where her hand had been only moments before. It was moist.

'What was she dreaming of? Was it him?' Daryl was suddenly blindsided by a rush of jealousy at the indecent idea that any other man would occupy her dreams. He pushed on the seam, firmly, and Carol's eyes snapped open.

Carol awoke wanting. There was no other proper adjective for it. Her breath was already short, panting, and, while she couldn't remember what exactly she'd been dreaming about, the smell that surrounded her was all Daryl.

"Look at me woman," She heard him husk in the dark.

Carol's vision was clouded with lust and she fought valiantly to focus on his hand and what it was doing as she searched for his face in the dark.

Daryl rubbed tiny circles. Slowly working the hard seam of the fabric over her sex. She began to shudder in his arms.

'Just a little more,' she thought blindly, 'just another second, and...'

"Look here woman," he growled, pulling her chin taught with his left palm to tip her head so she was forced to meet his piercing blue eyes in the dark from her head's rest next to his cock. Carol met his gaze and she was gone.

Daryl felt her entire body go tense and watched her eyes as she fell over the edge. He growled and moved his left palm up to cover her mouth, effectively catching her stuttering scream. Daryl continued to rub lightly as she came down; easily palming her mound so he could feel every twitch as she settled from his attention. It occurred to Carol, while lying comfortable in his embrace, that she had never climaxed so fast with such slight touches. Her body was a boneless, blissful, mass and she wanted to make him feel equally.

"Daryl?" It was a question in the way she said it, her hand going to his painfully swollen member.

"No," he breathed, "you need to sleep an' it's Merle turn on watch."

"But," she started.

Slowly, and ever so purposefully, Daryl drug his hand from her groin up her abdomen, causing her to shudder and lose focus. She watched with rapt attention as he brought his right hand to his nose and mouth, taking in her scent. He closed his eyes, savoring the experience.

"I'm fine," Daryl said.

She believed him.

Daryl stood, without further explanation, and looped his bow on his back. Scooping Carol easily in to his arms he made his way to the lounge where he toed his brother's sleeping form.

Merle woke quickly and Daryl motioned him, with a jerk of his head, that it was his turn on watch.

Merle nodded, groaned, and popped various joints before getting up and leaving the lounge.

Daryl carefully laid Carol on the mattress closest the door and then adjusted himself in his pants before curling protectively behind her.

Before long Carol's breathing had evened out and Daryl could tell she had drifted in to an easy sleep. Daryl closed his eyes and brought his right hand to his nose again.

This was neither the time or the place but, he knew, when the time came that he would take her, he wouldn't stifle her scream again. When the time was right, he would immerse himself in her ecstasy. The sound, the smell, the taste, and the feel. This desire was both foreign and unsettling to him. Such a need was not something he was familiar with. He had fucked but, this, this was so much more. A desire to roll in her essence and mark her with his. A need that he could not live fully without her. A realization that his world would come unraveled if the fates cut her thread before his. It was that thought that called Daryl Dixon to a troubled sleep.


	6. The Girl Called 'Thing'

**OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER - AS ALWAYS I DO NOT OWN ANY WALKING DEAD CHARACTERS; BUT, THEN AGAIN, THERE AREN'T ANY IN THIS CHAPTER...HUH...WELL I GUESS I CAN STILL PROFESS TO BE PLAYING IN KIRKLAND'S PLAYGROUND. JUST BROUGHT MY OWN TOYS TODAY. ;)**

**SUPER BRIEF WRITER'S SIDE NOTE: We're gonna take a minute to look back. Keep in mind that TWD crew is two winters and some change into their story. However, I'm going to start introducing some original characters to play with TWD crew so I can facilitate my story's development appropriately. That means you guys have to get a touch of my characters' backstory, to understand them better. This will take a couple of days and more than one chapter BUT I PROMISE to get back to our favorite couple very soon... CARYL ON!**

June 2010

Rebecca Townsand was born into a world that was technically not her own. The man she called father, Alan Townsand, was a high profile criminal defense attorney in Atlanta Georgia. Alan was an imposing man, at a flat six feet he sported a crop of blond hair that he wore longer than the current fashion. If asked, he told people that his shaggy style helped his "misunderstood clients" identify with him. Alan worked out every day and took pride in his body and appearance. He would one day tell his daughter that when he spied Barbara across their high-end country club gym, he knew she was the girl that would steal his heart. Their wedding pictures were beautiful. Alan's broad smile, the couple's matching piercing blue eyes, and twin flaxen hair were the talk of the club circuit.

Rebecca never met her mother, Barbara Townsand. By all accounts Barbara was handed her baby only moments after Rebecca's birth and pronounced, over Rebecca's carmel colored complexion and raven locks, that there must have been a "mistake."

"This," Barbara sneered holding the edges of the swaddling cloth together, "This _thing_ is not mine."

Barbara would leave her husband two days later, on a rainy Thursday. She let Alan come home to the squalling infant in a designer shoebox in the middle of his empty living room.

A folded sheet of legal paper on his desk: "This is your fault," scrawled across it in his wife's broad penmanship.

She cleaned him out. The wall safe, their joint checking, even the rainy day bonds and two handguns that Alan kept under their bed. Every stick of furniture, every knick-knack, every throw pillow, every "_thing_" that wasn't nailed down save his desk and that sheet of paper. She even took the gold-plated fixtures off their marble bathroom sink. Alan suspected she would have taken the sink but, it was probably too heavy.

Barbara would "accidentally" overdose on vicoden three weeks after that day. In a Hilton penthouse suite, surrounded by their things.

She, Barbara, would never know that is was her leaving that cemented Rebecca's place in Alan's life. Alan was considering a "quiet" divorce. That Thursday he had an associate at his firm draw up the papers. He gave her half, in the proposed settlement, and more than a comfortable monthly alimony if she would agree to give the child up for adoption to a "more appropriate" family.

But, when Alan came home that day, to an empty apartment and a squalling baby, it occurred to him that he never really realized how terribly alone he was in this world. He looked around his empty apartment and all he could fathom was; here is this thing no; this girl. This loud angry girl with more fight in her at two days than Alan could muster from his thirty-four years. He was alone and she was alone but, if they were alone together, they really weren't "alone" anymore.

Alan shredded that note along with any reservations or ideas of giving his daughter away. He shed his three-thousand dollar suit jacket and fell to his knees next to that shoebox.

"Tell me what to do," he whispered to the infant. "Tell me what to do. I don't know how to do this." Alan reached out slowly, that night, and fearfully laid his hand across the baby's tiny squalling form, as if she was made of glass. The girl reached up with an iron grip and latched onto his massive fingers; her mouth going to suck on the tip of his left ring finger just inches above the golden banded lie her mother had told. "Rebecca," Alan whispered, his soul, for the first time truly seeing the girl. "For Grandma." Alan found himself that night, on that floor, in a penthouse apartment stripped of every luxury. Alan _found_ himself, on the floor, for the first time, at peace. There were no meetings, no clients, no visits to the jail, and no courtroom diatribes as he sat on that floor. Only He and Rebecca; in that moment everything else ceased to matter.

Things progressed quickly from that night.

There was an "emergency" run to the corner store for formula. Then a second emergency run to a bodega three blocks away when he returned home with the formula and realized he had no bottles, pots, or spoons. A call to a high end nanny service the following day got things running more smoothly especially with Alan's black card "on file" when he sent his new nanny out to buy "whatever it is that babies need."

Rebecca grew like a weed. Her form maturing into a lithe, muscular teenager, who never stopped moving. She took up fencing and archery. Alan provided all the tutors that client money could buy and supported whatever extracurriculars Rebecca wanted as long as her grades remained a strict 4.0. When she was fifteen Rebecca took up competitive shooting. On her instructor's prodding, Alan let her try for the American Olympic team. When she qualified, at the top of her group, Alan insisted that they make plans for the Summer Games. He would fly the whole team first class. He wanted everything to be perfect.

When it became obvious that Alan's workload would not allow him to attend the games with his daughter he approached his partners about a buy-out. Alan had really lived life, loved it, through the eyes of his daughter. He couldn't think of anything he would rather do than see his daughter be an Olympic Athlete, grow up, get married and, he didn't want work stopping him.

Alan Townsand was fifty and considering early retirement on the day he was bitten. He was in the infirmary of the Fulton County Jail. A client beaten "half to death."

"Coded en-route to the doctor," the guard told him, as they walked back to the antiseptic white room where he frequently saw clients after skirmishes in the yard. "Damdest thing I ever saw," the beefy jailer continued, "I would swear the fucker died but, then he just sat up." The guard stopped Alan in the hallway to pantomime his surprise, "I was like, 'Whoa,' and he was all snarlin' and snappin' and shit and his fucking eyes man;" the guard cut himself short and continued down the hallway with Alan behind. "His fucking eyes," the guard mumbled to himself, further making his point to no one in particular.

Alan was irritated with the visit from the start. He had a three-thirty meeting, then he had to pick up Rebecca from fencing by four forty-five. This would put him behind. He had it backwards, he would later reflect, it would actually put him out front of his schedule. Closer to the ultimate finish.

When he saw what was left of Paul Marson, a three time loser and long time client, Alan knew he wasn't Paul anymore. Something screamed inside him to 'run' and yet, like a child to a stove top burner, he reached out and touched Paul's sallow jaw. Paul got him on the thumb of his right hand. The mother fucking thumb. Took the nail clean off. In horror Alan watched as the thing that had been Paul ate his thumbnail.

The hospital Alan went to was stacked with patients and, when they announced a "full quarantine," Alan knew, knew the way, sometimes, a man just "knows things," that he would never see his daughter compete in the Summer Games.

It was a Thursday, again. Funny how life comes full circle. Alan did not panic for himself. He already knew he was dead. He panicked for his daughter, alone, again, in his apartment. Only, this time, he was the one who had left her there. His cell phone was taken from him but, that didn't really matter as all the lines had been "jammed" for hours. Alan paid an orderly everything he had on him, $2,683 and change, plus his Rolex to get him to a phone that would work. It was red. Alan couldn't help but snicker quietly that all the "emergency phones" he had seen in movies weren't a misdirect and an "emergency phone" really was red. Who'da thought? He dialed the secure satellite phone he kept in his bottom desk drawer for emergencies. It took three tries but, eventually, Rebecca answered.

"Dad?"

"Don't talk just listen."

"But, Dad?"

"Don't talk, love, listen to me. Something's happened," Alan barreled through not giving her a chance to interrupt again. "Take both the rifles, the good ones, you won't need the cases. There's extra ammo in my wall safe, combo is 6-18-94, your birthday. There's a handgun, a Glock, in the middle drawer of my desk, you'll have to break the drawer open. Take your bow and the swords, the light ones, not the broads, and not the foils, the sharps you understand."

"But,"

"Repeat it back to me."

"Dad?"

"For God's sake, baby, repeat it."

"The rifles, the ones with scopes, the ammo, the wall safe, combo's my birthday, the Glock in the desk, my bow, and the sharps...Dad what's going on?"

"I don't know but, you have to get safe and that means getting out of the city. Take food. Canned. Eat whatever meat you can find in the fridge. Take the SUV. The keys are on the hook. And, Rebecca," Alan paused, his chest felt like it was trying to collapse inward. "Rebecca," he wheezed, "Don't get bit. Now repeat it."

"Get safe, out of the city, take food, canned, eat meat, SUV, keys on hook and don't get bit." Rebecca paused committing the verbal list to memory. "Daddy," she asked softly, "bit by what?"

"Anything." Alan limited his answer. Passed by humans, whatever this was, but, he had no idea where it came from, not really. It was better to give broad strokes. Keep her vigilant, safe.

Rebecca listened to her Father's labored breathing and intonation, rife with emotion, he was usually so calm, even; this was bad. This was very bad. "Where will I meet you Daddy?" Rebecca already knew the answer and her voice cracked as she whispered the question.

Alan's breath gasped from his body on the other end. The fever that had been raging in him for hours was making it more and more difficult to breath. "I'm not coming Rebecca."

"I understand," she whispered meekly.

"Rebecca," Alan heard pounding on the other side of the hospital office door and then a shot. 'The Orderly,' he thought. There were more shots and screaming. "Rebecca," Alan said more forcefully, "Did I ever tell you I named you after my Grandmother?"

Rebecca couldn't speak on the other end of the line. She had indeed heard the story a hundred times about her fiery Great Grandmother Rebecca Lynn. The only woman who could keep her grandson, Alan, from arguing.

"I named you after her because she never put up with my shit." Alan paused as the pounding got louder on the other side of the door. "You never did either. Even as a baby you were so strong and you never let me quit even when I thought I couldn't go on you held on with me and we did it together." Alan's voice got louder as he tried to talk over the pounding.

"But, we were together and now I'll be alone," Rebecca sobbed.

"But, you," Alan gasped, "you were always the strong one." There was another quick succession of shots and the door jam surrounding the lock came apart. "I love you," Alan yelled into the headset. "I love you. You're stronger than whatever this is, don't you ever forget that." The door flew open and Alan dropped the receiver putting his hands in the air. His last thoughts on this earth were of his daughter. The tiny squalling baby in the shoebox who had made him love his life. Alan silently thanked whatever deity he was going to visit for allowing him almost sixteen years with his daughter. Sixteen years to really love his life. That's more than most people get.

Rebecca listened to the phone until she heard the click of it being hung up. It was not hung up by her Father. He would have said 'Goodbye.' Ever the polite and consummate professional he never hung up without saying 'Goodbye.' Someone else had hung up that phone. Someone else had fired those shots. So many shots. Like the range on Saturday afternoons. One right after the other. She set the phone on her Father's desk. 'Don't get bit,' he had said.

'Don't get bit.'

She rolled the silent thought in her mind.

'Don't get bit.'

Everything else she understood. It would have been have been common sense for her to abandon the apartment if he didn't come home. If the fires in the street outside continued. The looting she saw on the TV. The looting she saw out her bedroom window. Common sense to go to the cabin, the one they had used to hide from the media, during his last high profile defense case.

'Don't get bit.'

He had died for the message. Shot. He knew, she knew, that he loved her. That had always been understood. He hadn't called for that, it was an added bonus, those words. He'd called to say: 'Don't get bit.'

A sudden and powerful sob blindsided Rebecca. She could hear her Father's voice echoing in her psyche. "Control yourself," it said, "you can't break down now." Her mouth opened and closed in the oppressive silence of the painfully empty office trying not to cry. But, there are some things in life that can not be helped, no matter the emotional inconvenience of their timing. She allowed herself ten seconds of mourning for her abruptly severed adolescence;

One - The First Christmas she could remember: Aspen.

Two - Her first Buck.

Three - Tickle Fights

Four - Mad Men Marathons

Five - Thanksgiving with the building staff.

Six - Her first rifle.

Seven - The Midnight showing of "Rocky Horror Picture Show"

Eight - Ice Cream for running a seven minute mile; her Father always was a contradiction.

Nine - 'Don't get bit.'

Ten - 'I love you.'

Rebecca wiped her face on the back of her forearm and stood. She had things to do.

**THAT'S IT FOR TONIGHT! HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYED. THIS STORY IS COMING FASTER THAN I CAN WRITE IT SO, I'M GOING TO START FORCING MYSELF TO TAKE DAY BREAKS BETWEEN POSTING EACH CHAPTER. HOPEFULLY THIS WILL ALLOW ME TIME TO FIGURE OUT HOW I'M GOING TO PATCHWORK ALL THESE PIECES TOGETHER. IT WILL FORM A QUILT SOON, I HOPE. :)**

**ANY-WHO - PLEASE KEEP 'FOLLOWING' AND I HOPE TO RETURN THURSDAY WITH "THE NIGHTMARE MAN." UNTIL THEN - CHEERS AND HAPPY WRITING!**


	7. The Pocket Jacks

**OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER -**

**I OWN NOTHING FROM THE WALKING DEAD. I DON'T MAKE ANY MONEY OFF THIS BUT, I DO APPRECIATE YOUR READS! THIS IS ANOTHER ORIGINAL CHARACTER CHAPTER - I KNOW I PROMISED "THE NIGHTMARE MAN" TODAY. DON'T HATE ME TOO MUCH YOU'LL GET TO MEET HIM TOMORROW! UNTIL THEN PLEASE ENJOY THE BACK STORY OF MY BOYS GABRIEL AND MICHAEL. THEY ARE MY ORIGINAL CREATION AND ANY SIMILARITY TO ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD IS COMPLETELY UNINTENDED.**

July 2010

On a balmy August morning in 1992 Ester Carthage gave birth in a barn. Her twin sons Michael and Gabriel would forever be the butt of family jokes, and good natured ribbing, due to this unfortunate truth. Ester, however, found their origin to be Christ like and she never missed the opportunity to remind them of her beliefs.

"You were born next to a manger," Ester clucked while trying to get a spatula under the two farm fresh sunny side eggs, "it was divinely inspired. Early by two weeks. I was trying to milk the cow and," She stopped fussing with the eggs and wiped her hands on her apron. She then held her open palms above her head signaling the divine inspiration of which she spoke, "HE said 'I give you your sons.' And, BAM," she clapped her hands together, "I got you two ungrateful cusses."

"Yeah, Ma," Gabriel mumbled, his mouth full, spitting toast crumbs as he spoke, "Cept Mary didn't have to get busy and you were stuck with Da for what, like a thousand years, before we were born."

Gabriel snickered at his own joke before his head snapped forward as his silent father entered the room, reprimanding him with a smack to his cranium for the insolence.

Gabriel turned, in irritation, to look behind him and Jeremiah took the opportunity to steal his son's one remaining piece of bacon.

"Just for that," Ester pointed her spatula dramatically at her eldest, "you're getting scrambled." Ester proceeded to attack the cast iron skillet with zeal, making quite a show of assassinating the eggs within.

Michael eyed his twin with a laughing gaze over the pitcher of milk that sat between them.

"You shut it," Gabriel said pointing.

Michael smirked.

"I mean it," Gabriel's voice rose playfully.

Michael gave his brother a full smile and then darted, laughing, from the kitchen. Gabriel pushed away from the table quickly and followed suit yelling, "I may only be older by two minutes but, I'm still older and can kick ...your…." Ester would swear she hear the outer screen door slam before their toppled chairs hit the floor.

"What about your," Ester let her hands fall to her apron, "eggs?"

Jeremiah let his arm circle his wife's waist from behind, with a smile. He hugged her close to his body, his chest to her back, and breathed in the scent of wood floor polish, chicken feathers, vinegar, fresh biscuits, and bacon. Her smell. "I'll eat um," he whispered into her loose french twist, "on one condition." With that Jeremiah used the hand he had slipped around her to snap off the burner and easily picked up his wife of twenty-two years throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

She squealed, "Jeremiah Carthage, you Devil, put me down!"

"Naw, we've done struck a bargain, Wife. Eat your cookin' n' I get 'yer Lovin'."

"I agreed to no such thing," she chuckled, doing her best to sound very serious. From her place over his shoulder Ester smacked his rear several times with the spatula she still held, enunciating the words 'no,' 'such,' and 'thing' with a sharp thwack, thwack, thwack. Jeremiah stopped at the base of the stairs leading to their second story bedroom, waiting to gage if her reaction was even remotely serious. "My eggs are worth a great deal more than that," she finished with a girlish giggle.

"You," Jeremiah rasped, a touch of lust ghosting his voice, "are gonna pay for that!"

The boys could hear their parents inside, giggling and laughing, as they pulled a cutting blade from one of the three tobacco harvesters by the barn. It was their parents continued amorous pursuits that had driven the twins to move their belongings to the loft of the barn two years earlier. This was their sanctuary, away from their parent's flirtations. They only went into the house for meals anymore. Slept above the horses and their quiet nighttime rustling in the stalls below.

Michael, as usual, remained silent.

Gabriel, casting an irritated glance back toward the house, muttered "Gross," while fiddling with his ipod. Apparently, setting the tiny contraption to its correct application he put the mechanism to rights in the docking station just inside the barn's open sliding door and cranked up the noise.

"Can't wait til we leave," Gabriel groaned as he pushed and pulled on an adjustable wrench, trying to loosen a bolt on the harvester. "Sixteen more days man," he said brightly reminding his brother of their countdown to college, "I was worried for a minute, last month. The shit that went down in Atlanta and Charleston."

Michael made an affirmative sound.

"But," Gabriel grunted, kicking the wrench now with his foot, "Two weeks and no more outbreak, no news, no nothing. So the way I figure it," Gabriel pulled the wrench away from the machine dropping it in the toolbox and fishing for a different size, "never got to Anderson. No problems there. We are still on for the great exodus. Sixteen more days and we. are. out."

"It's community college, Man," Michael finally spoke as he ran his gloved hand over the blade he was examining. "Sides we'll be back all the time. Da can't do all this on his own." Michael flipped the blade in his hands, never looking up. "Ma would be a mess if you weren't here to torture her. Drive Da up the wall." Michael finally looked from his work. "Hand me that rasp," he said pointing. "There is a knick on here."

Gabriel pulled two rasps from the tool box and held them up. Michael pointed to the tool on the left and then, much to his brother's confusion, Michael's finger began to drift farther to the left, pointing away from his brother. Gabriel easily recognized that something, in the distance behind him, had seized his brother's rapt attention.

"What," Gabriel said frozen, "My God Please tell me it's JoAnn Meeks, in her bathing suit, selling lemon-aid."

Michael's right eyebrow shot up to the middle of his forehead at this specifically imaginative fantasy. "No, JackAss, look."

Ester and Jeremiah Carthage owned a tobacco farm outside of Anderson, South Carolina. Four hundred and sixty acres. The land had been in their family for over a hundred years. Jeremiah took a great deal of pride in his farm and his family independence from the surrounding community. Private Road. No Mail service to their home. Forty-five minutes to Anderson if they felt like checking their P.O. Box. Twenty minutes to their closest neighbor, if they drove at sixty mph. It took that neighbor almost nine days to aimlessly shuffle from their house in to the Carthage east forty.

Jeremiah came flying from inside the farmhouse, pulling his button-up closed one handed, when he heard his sons yelling at a trespasser. Shotgun clutched tight, he was prepared for action. He skidded to a stop just past the barn and squinted into the bright early morning July sun.

"Mr. Meeks?" Jeremiah bellowed as he began to walk toward the figure. "Mr. Meeks? Jon? That you?"

The figure in the distance gave no indication that he had heard Jeremiah's inquiry. It's pace, however, did seem to increase.

Michael put his hand on his Father's arm. "Da, I don't think he's right. In the head. He's not actin' right," Michael confided. "Think he's sick."

"Get your Ma," Jeremiah commanded. "Tell her to call over to the Meeks' place."

Michael ran for the door leaving his Father and Gabriel watching Mr. Meeks' walker make a brisk approach through the tobacco.

Ester was already on the phone when Michael burst through the door. "Ma," Michael screeched, "call the,"

Ester hushed him with a hand motion and they both stood in relative silence, listening to the receiver ring through to the Meeks farm.

The shotgun echoed through the still South Carolina air and Ester's eyes widened as if she'd been slapped.

Ester dropped the phone and lit through the kitchen screen door. It offered a bang bang behind her despite the lack of a summer breeze. Michael followed, less than twenty paces, before he saw his brother crouched in the plants. His brother crouched over two bodies. Two bodies. His Mother's scream would haunt him for the rest of his life. The horrors Michael would bare witness to, in the future, would not compare to the echo of that scream.

Not dead, not yet 'out for the count,' Jeremiah wheezed in the furrowed earth one hand holding the hand of his eldest, the other on his throat; trying desperately to steam the flow of blood. Gabriel crouched and rocked softly, humming some nonsense tune, a self-soothing tick from his childhood. He looked up when He felt his Mother drop to her knees in the dirt. Michael remained standing.

"Shot 'em," Gabriel mumbled before resuming his humming.

Michael silently bore witness as his brother tried to fight his the muscles of his neck and keep from looking back to the headless body of Mr. Meeks. It was Mr. Meeks. Wearing his name tag. 'Bank Manager - Jon Meeks.' Underneath it Michael could see the words 'Anderson' and the partial a,n,k from 'Bank.' The word 'State' and the uppercase "B" from "Bank" had been obscured by blood and bits of bone from the blow-back such a close shotgun blast created. 'How stupid,' Michael absently pondered. 'Anderson is a city, not a state.'

"Bit Da. In the neck. Bit him. Came for me. Shot him. Face just went. Just came apart. I can't go to jail. I gotta go to college. I'm going to college. Sixteen days." Gabriel's attention was suddenly pulled back to a sound that fought its way free from the body of his Father. His Mother was sobbing uncontrollably, but, even over her hysterical cries, there was no missing this sound. Distinct. Unforgettable. A death rattle. A hollow sound. Like someone shaking a raw bean in a tin can.

Jeremiah Carthage died in the arms of his Wife, with His sons watching over him. His face was to the sun, his body already in his family's soil. There was a certain poetry to it that his sons would never understand. Jeremiah took that poetry with him; to meet his God.

Gabriel and Michael carried their Father's body inside. They washed and wrapped his neck in a white towel before they let their Mother in to the master bedroom where they'd laid his remains. She was inconsolable and asked to be left alone.

Michael thought this was a bad idea. When he turned to discuss it with his brother he realized he was alone, in the upstairs hallway. He pulled himself toward the kitchen solely by force of will. Looking out the small window above the sink he saw his Gabriel, sitting on the forgotten harvester. Reluctantly Michael did the one thing he knew his Mother and Brother could not. After he dialed the phone to inform Sheriff's dispatch of the accident, he left it off the hook and went outside to join his brother in silence. If he had known then, what he knows now, he would have taken a moment to hug his mother goodbye.

Jeremiah Carthage had been dead a little less than nineteen minutes when he rose. His body was still cooling. There wasn't even enough time for the Sheriff to arrive.

Jeremiah's walker lurched forward and seized his horrified wife by the left forearm, sinking his incisors clean down the bone. Ester did not scream. She wouldn't understand why, until later, when, after fleeing and locking her bedroom door behind her, she saw her sons sitting together on the harvester outside.

God had given her this strength, she thought to herself, 'the strength not to scream. Not to draw them inside.' 'The dead are being risen,' she concluded, 'and now, I am to join them.' Revelation. End of Days. Ester saw her fate clearly and refused to accept the idea that she would ever hurt her boys. She heard the thing upstairs groaning and banging into walls. Ester sat down at the forgotten breakfast table to think. As she leaned back in Jeremiah's chair her skin recognized the familiar feel of the rectangular box in the front pocket of her husband's Carhart jacket.

"You were supposed to quit," she said drolly removing the box of reds and a worn bic lighter. "We quit together." Ester pulled a cigarette from the flip top box and tapped it lightly on the table before lipping and lighting it with a skilled ease that only comes from years of practice. She cast her eyes toward the ceiling and the rustling movement. "Don't think we're not going to talk about this. I won't forget," she promised as as she stood, taking a long drag. Ester looked, one more time, toward her sons. Then, she stood, walked to the stove, and turned on the gas for all four burners as well as the gas for the oven inside.

Ester returned to the table. She was nearly done with her cigarette when the Deputy arrived. He pulled in just in time to see the small explosion the blew out the kitchen window. The resulting fire took the two story farmhouse to ash.

**Writer's ending remarks - Tomorrow will bring "The Nightmare Man" followed by "The Price of Freedom" and then "The Scarred Children Run." _T__hat - _"The Scarred Children Run" will bring us back to TWD crew at the hospital. Sure hope Carol is okay...I left her with quite the head trauma... (Rev shakes head to herself)...**

**Until then, as always, Cheers and Happy Writing!**


	8. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello everybody -

The following is a true Author's Note and not intended to be part of the fictional story you are reading.

First of all, I want to say how much fun I'm having writing on this site. I love your reviews (THANK YOU!) and support for this little project of mine.

Hopefully that will not change with the chapter I'm about to post. (Fingers crossed)

That being said, to understand the next chapter and where it comes from I'm afraid I'm going to have to get a little personal. Sorry.

If I were just 'putting this out there' in a book or serialized, I probably wouldn't bother letting you guys in on this part of me but, as it isn't and I'm writing this for you, not for money, I feel I owe some sort of explination for "The Nightmare Man." So, here goes...

Seven Years ago I survived a violent assault. That's all I'm going to say about that. There it is. I saw all kinds of shrinks, doctors, advocates, and, for some people, that shit really works, for me it didn't.

I am logical thinker. I'm a planner and an academic. I could not understand this occurrence in my life so, I set out too. I had already attained my Masters in Criminal Justice at the time so I approached my Academic Counselor about a doctoral question.

What drives truly horrible people to do truly horrible things?

I overstepped, I know that now. But, my Advisor, in her infinite wisdom saw that I needed something, more. She gave me a list, a resume of sorts, of nineteen names, eighteen men and one women. The midwest's worst currently incarcerated horrors.

She called them "The Nightmare Makers." And, before anybody PM's me to ask -YES I got her permission to alter her phrase in my writing EONS ago.

I only made it through a handful, prison visits, before I came to realize something she, my advisor, had known all along. There is no reason. Well, there is and there isn't. A host of reasons dotted their rap sheets but, no imperical truth. Sometimes people are just awful. Not all the time, not most of the time, but, just sometimes.

It's just a fact of life.

So, from that project, and, perhaps in an effort to heal, I created the Nightmare Man. A boogy man of my design that has littered a few stories. A man to personify my demons. Created specifically to die, on paper, by my hand.

It's cathartic.

He bears no resemblance to anyone living or dead. He bears no resemblance to anyone period. I never describe him. Boogeymen don't get faces. His crimes are not specifically in referance to any crimes commited. Rather an organic hybridization of the most horrible offerings humanity has given over the past twenty years or so. He has had many names in my stories and committed many crimes but, this is the first time he has appeared in a story of public review.

**BE PREPARED**

**The following chapter has scenes of implied rape, overt rape triggers, torture, animal mutilation, and other awful awfulness.**

ALL that being said, I hope you will give him, and me, a chance. Trust me. Stick with me. We will get through this together.

With that I'd like to leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

"There is a light in this world, a healing spirit more powerful than any darkness we may encounter. We sometimes lose sight of this force when there is suffering, too much pain. Then suddenly, the spirit will emerge through the lives of ordinary people who hear a call and answer in extraordinary ways." - Mother Teresa

As Always -

Cheers and Happy Writing


	9. The Nightmare Man

**OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER - THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS ORIGINAL CHARACTERS INTERACTING IN KIRKLAND'S WORLD. PLEASE KNOW I MAKE NO MONEY OFF THIS AND I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING AFFILIATED WITH TWD FRANCHISE. EXCEPT A DARYL DIXON T-SHIRT, LIKE A GOOD CARYL'ER SHOULD!**

**********THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS RAPE, MURDER, SLAVERY, MUTILATION, AND TORTURE************

*********************YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**************************

Winter 2010

Leon Fitz was a sadist. It was easier to say than it had been for him to discover.

As a young boy of only nine he had accidentally killed his Mother's cat.

He hid the remains under the bridge by his house and went back to examine them later. Drawn to the spot like a his Mother was drawn to the bottle. Leon found himself confounded by his sadness. Not that the cat was dead but, that it was over. No more plaintive screeches, no more choking gurgles, no more nothing. He poked it with a stick. Little more than fur covered meat now, what had been fun, inside, was now gone. Leon was sad; it hadn't lasted long enough.

It wasn't that his Mother abused him. She did what she could. Psychiatrists, Doctors, and the like. Leon took great pleasure, satisfaction, in 'showing progress,' the joke was in the trick, the manipulation of the situation. Everyone of them seemed to think Leon owed his fascination with the macabre to his Father's demise in the Middle East and his Mother's subsequent alcohol abuse.

Not that it mattered.

Leon was declared cured four days after his thirteenth birthday. To celebrate he abducted and mutilated a homeless woman. It took six hours. The blood was epic. He got off four times before she expired in his arms. Never did catch her name. In his journal he recorded it as Jane; as in Doe.

With each subsequent abduction Leon got a little better. Bleach, plastic sheeting, rubbers, no DNA after the first; Jane. But, after each kill Leon could not escape that same sense of sadness that overcome him that night under the bridge, with his Mother's cat. He would stand next to the mutilated meat and look for what had been fun. That spark, that pain, that, fight. Every time it eventually dwindled from their eyes. Fireworks that cooled into dying embers. Eventually nothing but blackening coal.

After some time, Leon learned to label this feeling as disappointment, not sadness. He first realized he was not capable of sadness in his twenty second year while in attendance of his Mother's funeral service. He did not cry, he couldn't, he was too busy envisioning the visceral, tactile feel of his Aunt's blood as he watched her morn. Later he would swear to the woman tied in his bedroom closet that his vision had been of her, filleted for his examination but, he knew better. Leon wanted his Aunt under his knife.

Leon never had the urge to cut her, his Mother, like all the other walking meat, but, he couldn't help but feel disappointed that their own version of his omnipresent control was gone with her soul.

He could no longer control her perception of him.

That, the experience of his Mother's passing, is how Leon came to the conclusion that he was not a 'sad' person only disappointed with the fleeting pleasure of his infliction of suffering on those around him. While he waited for the meat from his closet to cool, before bagging for disposal, on the floor Leon ran an internet query on infliction of pain. Something that he, surprisingly, had not done sooner. While he derived some pleasure from the background audio clips found on the bondage sites he perused, Leon was relatively disappointed at their lack of follow through. These prancing fags in leather seemed to always stop short of true commitment. On the third page of his search, about halfway down, he finally came across his label, his niche, his…..community. The collected works of the Marquis de Sade were read aloud to Leon Fitz that night. A bedtime story from an anonymized IP address video stream. A young, bloody, trembling Hispanic woman, nude, sobbed her way through the poorly translated text in the video that glowed against the dim lighting of Leon's apartment. 'Sadism,' he thought, 'I am a Sadist.' Leon Fitz smiled.

Perhaps if he believed in an afterlife Leon would have more concerned that his Mother might witness his actions from the beyond and then his game would have been for not. But, Leon did not believe in an afterlife, or Heaven, or Hell, the Devil, Demons, or even Angels. There was no God to Leon except that of his own creation, in the terror of this victims. After all, what kind of benevolent Deity would allow such a monstrous creation as Leon Fitz to exist in the first place?

All that changed when the dead rose.

Leon knew, in this advent of the Judeo Christian Hell on Earth, that there was something greater than his own desires at play. And, as he watched his last victim, a waif like sorority girl named Staci - with an 'i,' reanimated before him, he could not help but offer her walker a toothy smirk.

It was like this Apocalypse had been designed for him.

"In a world of the damned," Leon whispered to Staci. "Why shouldn't I be King?"

Leon Fitz was thirty when the dead rose.

Less than one month later he had sixteen followers and harem of nine toys; the adolescent living on chains. As they died he moved them to walk behind his caravan and he collected more. The dead were chained to walk behind his coaches, the living in front. They were more entertaining to watch anyway. He didn't have to hide his desires, his followers helped him, obeyed him. Worshiped him?

Leon found that children were more resilient than the college aged woman he had prefered before. Under twenty, that was his rule. He even found pleasure in whipping teenaged boys; something he never would have tried, in the world before. He constructed a special cat of nine tails from a box of roofing nails and broken glass bottles. Their flesh separated cleanly into scarlet ribbons. The vision of ruined young muscle made him hard.

He had so much more freedom now. There were no police, no societal judgement. He could trade his toys for better at his whim; and people traded.

Everyone traded.

For the first time in his life Leon Fitz felt accepted, loved even.

"Why," sobbed the girl in front of his campsite chair. "Why?" She was groveling over the meat that had been her sister. Weak girl. Hadn't lasted an hour. The only real joy Leon got from her is the fact that they came as a set; with his victim a sibling to watch. Her horror had been like a fine wine, a Merlot.

He cut her off. Using his foot, he kicked her away, by the throat. "Because," Leon declared standing, "I am your King." Leon crouched over her shaking naked form and pulled the dirk from his boot. She quivered and mewed underneath him. He felt himself grow impossibly larger against the fabric of his jeans as he brought the small blade to her cheek.

Just a little cut.

Make it last.

Leon brought the blade to his tongue and licked the droplet of her blood from the steel. He closed his eyes to fully enjoy the flavor; she did taste like a Merlot. "I am your King," he said again, growling, "and its good to be King."

It was just beginning to cool that first winter when Leon found her, his mate, his perfect match. Near Tugaloo Park, on the state line, Leon came across her hunting. He hadn't been looking for more toys but, some of the smaller ones had been dying off so, he was keeping his options open.

McMannis, a slim fucker from Easley who liked to sniff little girl's bicycle seats, saw her first. He tapped Leon's chest and pointed, "Boss."

She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Perched in a tree, she was in deep thought tracking something in the distance. A doe? Maybe. Leon waited until she leapt, soundless, from her perch to the forest floor and then he signaled his men to move.

The girl didn't scream. She stopped, put her hands up, and smiled. She fucking smiled. Leon was hooked.

Peters and Foust rushed her from behind and, as Leon watched with a touch of admiration, she took Peters down with a well placed right hook. Foust went down next; a boot to the side of his head. All the while she didn't scream. She didn't beg. But, with her attention now focused on Leon, she never saw McMannis.

"Fucking Bitch!" Peters bellowed from his place curled on the forest floor. "Bitch broke my nose." Peters gave the girl a punch to the gut as McMannis held her arms behind her back. McMannis grinned as blood drained from his cohorts sinuses. Foust was sitting up now, a touch dazed, propped up next to a tree, utilizing it for support.

The girl gasped as the impact of Peters' fist stole her breath. She, still, did not beg. No crying. Leon bit his lower lip and looked on in….admiration? Foust stood, a little shaken, and approached the girl, blade drawn. "You're gonna get traded darlin'," he said mater of factly, "but, fore you do, gonna take a little somethin' so ya' always remember me." It wasn't until Foust was inches away with the blade that the fear broke across her face.

"Stop," Leon said softly.

All three men froze. They were not fools. The last man who continued after Leon said 'Stop' had been skinned in front of the group. Slowly. Marcus Edwards had raped a four-year old boy. A sin Leon found strangely unpalatable. Leon had asked him to wait until he was clear of the boy's screams before continuing. Marcus had not. "Such lack of restraint," Leon would later announce to his collected followers as they crowded around the restrained Marcus, "is not permissible." It took most of the night to skin Marcus. Leon waited, every time he passed out, for him to wake, before continuing. "You King has restraint," Leon declared, "and, so must you. Failure to comply and you are, already, no better than our, guests." With a flourish Leon had gestured to the group of walkers chained behind their coach. It was behind that coach that Leon later chained Marcus. His skinned walker still followed their caravan daily. A warning.

All three men remained frozen.

They were not fools.

Leon slowly approached the trembling girl. As he got closer he realized, it wasn't fear that was making her skin quiver, it was anger.

"She is mine," Leon declared flatly. "She will be my pet."

"King," Peters began, "she is a problem. She will fight too much. Not,"

Peters' words died on his tongue as Leon ran his neck through with a switch blade.

"You talk too much," Leon said with a faint smile. Peters' blood coated the knife and his right hand. Leon's hand was warm with it when he went to touch his new pet.

Leon unwound a length of chain from his waist and looped it around the girls' lovely oak colored neck. Paying special attention to loop the chain back on itself, creating a choke chain, he then tied the other end around his wrist. Leon leaned into the girl's neck and whispered a secret to her midnight tresses. "I'm going to break you," he confided, "but, if you don't disappoint me, I will make you a Queen." Leon leaned back from the girl's paling face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "If you do disappoint me I will make you community property," he said with a sneer. "Your new name is 'Pet.' Say it."

The girl remained silent. A thunderous action in the noiseless winter woods.

A smile quirked the corner of Leon's lip as he gave a slight nod to McMannis.

McMannis approached and dropped to his knees in front of his future queen. His hands went to her thighs and, still, the girl remained silent. Giving her time to change her mind, McMannis went slowly, bringing his face flush to the juncture of her thighs. The girls knee shot out, in an attempt to strike McMannis in the face, but, it stopped short as Foust shook the pointer finger of his left hand while leveling a Baretta FS with the right. The girl stilled, remaining silent. McMannis breathed in deeply reveling in the scent of her fear. Then, with the speed of some hellish animal, he bit down. She knew he had drawn blood from her labia.

The word "pet," whimpered from her lips.

Leon used his boot to push McMannis away from her groin. "See," he said smiling, "that wasn't so hard."

Pet became a fixture of "The Traders," as they were known. Leon stripped her of clothes but, in an act he considered incredibly benevolent, he allowed her a cloak. None of the other toys got coverings. This was an action demonstrative of his mercy. To set her apart.

Leon gave her his full attention for two complete weeks and she still would not give him the satisfaction of a scream. It was this, this lack of self pity, that cemented her place with him. Knowing that he would always keep Pet, Leon did something that was a rarity. He made love to her. Or maybe he rapped her. He wasn't really sure as he had never had sex with a woman that wasn't tied up, and, eventually, dead. So he really had no frame of reference for what was considered consensual.

Sex had never particularly appealed to Leon but, he knew, that, since she was the one, he must give her this piece of himself. As he pushed inside he discovered, to his delight, she was a virgin. This 'happy coincidence' was the moment that Leon realized that, at least in his mind, he loved her. She was perfect. It wasn't that she wasn't afraid. Leon could smell it all over her. Fear. It was delicious. But, it was the fact that she refused give herself over to the terror that he found both fascinating and lovely. Leon knew he would never let her go.

While the other toys remained chained at night, huddled together for warmth. Leon allowed Pet a trolley that extended from one coach to another. She was free to walk back and forth, dragging her chain along the trolley line.

By Leon's calculation it was almost Christmas when he was delivered, what he perceived as, his first real sign of Pet's devotion. Her demonstration that she was learning their ways. That she would, eventually, be worth of the title queen.

The caravan had picked up a few more toys but, the weather was turning sour quickly, and the survivors who wanted to trade were coming fewer and farther between. Leon reasoned that this was due to the inclimate climate changes.

The decision had been made to turn the caravan south, towards Florida, but, before they began the long haul, Leon wanted to make one last trade.

A mountain of a man, Abel, had come with his pockets full of Ecstasy, last time, and purchased two small boys. Now, one of Leon's men had run across Abel again. This time outside of Barnwell State Park. The message had come that Abel would have more to trade, this time Ketamine, for two more boys.

'Boys,' Leon thought, sighing as he walked. He had picked up a few small boys over the last three weeks. Little, not much meat to work with. He could trade those for the K. "Thing One and Thing Two," Leon suddenly said out loud. His step picked up as he thought of the two older male toys. So alike Leon had been forced to carve a one in Thing One and a two in Thing Two. Just so he could tell them apart. He had lost his temper with Thing One a few weeks ago, had to cut his tongue in half to prove a point. Other than that, they were both fairly well intact. It would depend on how much K Abel had to trade but, Leon could see himself clear to part with the Toys. They were almost too old anyway. If they got any older they could pose a threat. Best to be rid of them now.

As Leon rounded the corner to the front coach, to check on his Toys, he saw Pet with Thing One and Thing Two.

Pet was at the far end of her line and crouched over the body of Thing One.

It took Leon a beat to figure out what was going on. He stepped to the edge, into the shadow of the coach, and removed his heavy cock from his pants.

Pet held a palm sized stone that had been hewn on one side to a sharpened edge. Thing Two had his brother's arms pinned firmly and Thing One was biting in to a roll of Pet's cloak as she lined the small stone up with Its' toes. Two blackened toes. Frostbite. Leon stroked himself faster.

Pet grimaced and, using her own foot, stepped, pushing the stone through Thing One's toes. Its' two smallest toes came off and rolled away in the frosty soil.

Leon came, with a groan, as he leaned into the side of the coach.

Leon approached, his, now shrinking, cock still hanging from his pants. The Things looked up in horror and Thing Two scrambled to the end of his chain to get farther away from his King. Leon paid them no attention. Instead he grasped his Pet's hair firmly, pulling her to her feet and kissed her. He bit down sharply into her lip, drawing blood on both sides, to let her know how proud he was of her first mutilation. Shoving her back to her knees, Leon waited. Pet knew what he wanted and, carefully, using only her bloody mouth, she cleaned his member before tucking him back into his pants.

Leon kept his eyes closed the entire time.

When the Devil closed his eyes, Thing One took a chance and silently clutched the hand of the girl he only knew as Pet. Offering her noiseless thanks for saving his foot and support as she completed this task.

In that moment, it was all he could do. He was honestly surprised when she squeezed his hand back. It was the closest Pet ever came to a scream for help and Leon missed it.


	10. The Price of Freedom

************AUTHOR'S NOTE AND WARNING *********** THE FOLLOWING IS MY LAST ORIGINAL CHARACTER ONLY BACKGROUND CHAPTER. HOWEVER, ALL THESE CHARACTERS DO HABITUATE KIRKLAND'S TWD WORLD - I MAKE NO MONEY OFF KIRKLAND'S WORLD IN ANY WAY AND I DO NOT PROFESS TO OWN ANY OF HIS WORLD IN ANY WAY! - THAT BEING SAID PLEASE NOTE: *** THIS IS A FOLLOW UP TO THE NIGHTMARE MAN* THERE ARE SOME OBVIOUS RAPE TRIGGERS IN HERE BUT, NOTHING AS EXTREME AS THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER!*THERE ARE ALSO REFERENCES TO DRUG USE AND CHILD SLAVERY*** THIS IS BACKGROUND STORY TO CREATE A VILLON ONLY AND NOT THE MAJOR FOCUS OF MY STORY AS A WHOLE. IF YOU NEED TO SKIP THE NIGHTMARE MAN AND THIS CHAPTER, THEORETICALLY YOU COULD PICK UP THE STORY AS A WHOLE WITH THE SCARRED CHILDREN RUN AND STILL FOLLOW IT, YOU'LL JUST BE A LITTLE CONFUSED ON SOME CHARACTERS REASONING FOR DOING THINGS. WITH THAT - I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

Christmas Eve 2010

Abel Sokolov did not care for the company of Leon Fitz or any of the monsters that traveled with him. Then again, Abel did not care for most people.

He just held a special place of deep and un-abiding malice for these monsters in particular.

If it were possible Abel would have destroyed the camp much sooner. Consequences be damned. But, Abel Sokolov was married, so, like many men, Abel had come to recognize that most things were no longer up to him. He had responsibilities. Obligations. Apocalypse or not.

When he and Donetta, his wife of eighteen years, had come upon The Traders her reaction had been one of fury while his had been methodical. His calm amidst her horrification only seemed to infuriate her further. At Abel's instance, they waited, tracking the caravan for almost a full week, discussing their options, watching, waiting for an opportunity, waiting to see how the Devil did business. Donetta wanted him to move in swiftly, take out the followers, and free the children.

Donetta watched too many movies.

A fierce, small, ebony woman, she had learned English from a cache of highly prized Robert DeNiro films. When Abel found her, waiting for his boat on the shores of Haiti, he knew. Knew what? He couldn't tell you today if you asked him. Instead he would insist that he just knew. That was it. The miniscule drug courier would drastically change his life. He wasn't even supposed to go on the run but, there he was. And, then he knew. The mismatched pair was married in Vegas less than a month later. His pale hulking form in a suit that was a little too small with his slick hair a little too long. Her tiny waist drawn into an intricate corset with chocolate colored accents that set off the slightly lighter color of her cheeks. Onlookers gawked at their physical discrepancies. To the newly anointed Mr. AND Mrs. Sokolov, however, it was perfect. She wasn't legal in the US but, the family helped him move her over. Paperwork was a formality that could be worked out later.

After the dead began to walk the earth Abel moved D, as he nicknamed her, to an abandoned missile silo outside Dahlonga, GA. Cut into the foothills of the Appalachians Abel only knew of the bunker due to its storage capacity for the family. Money. Drugs. Firearms. They were safe there for a while. When they began to run low on canned goods Abel took up hunting and D got board. She went with him twice before they stumbled upon Bay. A small girl they found in early September, after an unseasonably cold night. Maybe four. The girl had almost gone feral. Her eyes wild, hair matted, and shoeless, she hissed at Abel when he caught her. Eighteen years of failed attempts to have children and Abel couldn't turn her down when D said 'please.' 'Please,' they had to help the child. Less than four days later their little hide away had been crossed by two more children. A brother and sister of sixteen. The boy was some kind of medical genius. A good asset. The girl was sweet but, now there were three additional mouths to feed.

So there was more hunting.

Farther out.

Donetta came with him, to hunt, again, that last weekend in September. Or, maybe it was the first week in November. Abel couldn't really keep track. Her reasons had been good. He'd need help to butcher in the field. Safety in numbers. The older kids could care for the feral four year old. Looking back Abel would later wish he had stopped her.

With Donetta a few paces off his left heel, about nine miles easy walk from their parked Dodge, Abel had heard the screams first. Abel knew screams. Twenty plus years with his kind of "Family," sometimes Abel had been called upon to make people scream. They screamed like that for him too. Abel's years as mid-level enforcement had scarred his soul. Irreparably. He turned away then, to walk away, before he saw what was causing those screams. He had to protect what was his and that did not include risking his' woman's life to investigate a problem that wasn't theirs. Coming face to face with his wife, in that moment, Abel was terrified. He could never figure out how such a miniature human could be so fucking scary. She flew at him, cursing in a Haitian dialect that Abel didn't understand. Abel wasn't really sure but, she may have actually been cursing him. Like old world style. Pieces falling off kind of curse. That was how Abel came to track "The Traders." Reluctantly. But, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Regardless of his wife's prodding, Abel could not escape the truth that the two of them didn't stand a chance against the small cult of well armed predators. But, after watching them for a week that fact, 'however inescapable,' didn't make him want to kill them any less. Productively, Abel did believe, after watching The Traders' transactions from a distance, that they could buy rather than attack. Probably not all of them but, one or two at a time. Save who they could. Build a "business" relationship and, hopefully, eventually, have the numbers to take out the "King," himself. It wasn't the first time Abel had worked antagonists. His years as a made man had brought him a harder edge that most. Sharper. Abel murdered nineteen men in the world before. Because he was told to. He killed gambling cheaters, turncoats, and cowards. Abel had even killed for simple revenge. Someone wronged a boss of a boss and then they called Abel. Each one of those nineteen Abel could remember. Never slept right after. They stuck with him.

This was something else. There were twenty four men, disciples, lunatics, monsters, traveling with The Traders the first time Abel found them and he wanted them all dead. This felt reasonable. This would be justice, not revenge, not an order, right. This would be right. But, in order to get in Abel would have to be patient. Work the system. Lie with snakes and demons. To Court a King Abel would walk in darkness again.

Together, Donetta and Abel decided to go for the the two smallest boys first. Close to death, Abel could tell, he knew that they would be easy for the "King" to part with. D and he made a run into Appling. She knew a 'guy' who cooked there. Or, used to. Before. They couldn't put hands on any meth but, were Abel to locate a small mountain of X. Abel hoped it would be enough. He planned to make contact the following day, when he kissed his wife goodnight. D slept in the tent to start while he took first watch outside. Abel couldn't sleep so, he never woke her up that night.

He stayed awake. Planning. Every detail was meticulously rehearsed in his mind. He could never have predicted the caravan would make a sharp easterly course change. It nearly ran the cult into the small tent Abel shared with his wife. When D awoke, that morning, it had been in the pre-dawn hours, still dark. Abel pulled her from the tent and hid her quickly. This action had saved her life. Abel heard the rustling first, then far off screams. Less than a mile. D secured herself up the nearby tree just in time to watch the man Abel would later identify as McMannis come round a bend in the road with his gun up and ready.

Abel was stripped of his firearm. Searched. His possessions tossed. When they found his story satisfactory, McMannis questioned him.

"What you doin' out here, Grandpa?" McMannis drawled around a cigarette. "Seems to me, old man like you," McMannis inhaled, "should be dead by now."

"Left my bitches back in the mountains," Abel answered gruffly. "Heard you were the folk to trade wit in these parts."

"That so?"

"That's what I heard." Abel answered firmly.

"From who?"

Abel had thought, at great length, over the last four days, about how to answer that question, if asked. "Bua," it was a guess. A shot in the dark. If he said he didn't know anybody by that name, Abel might be dead in the water.

"You say 'Buck?'"

Abel exhaled. "Yeah, ran into him a piece ago. Said, you were the folk to see about specialty items. Said, your folk had the hook up. Could get me what I needed."

McMannis nodded appearing to accept the thin explanation. "What'cha lookin' for?" McMannis asked flatly.

"Boys," Abel bet on the man being jaded by the cesspool of comrades he had chosen.

McMannis coughed violently around his cigarette. "You just put shit out there don't you old man? Damn. So, you're a fucking fag kiddie fucker. Damn." McMannis seemed to ponder this thought. "You say you got woman back where you're at? Would you ever consider leaving? We gotta couple more of you NAMBLA fucks. You might like it. We could take those women off your hands. More eyes to watch them at all times, ya know?"

Abel shook his head. "Naw Man, I like my bitches fine. Good pussy and it's just me. They're broke good. Ain't got no need to leave. Just, looking for something a little tighter. Ya feel me?"

"No," McMannis furrowed his brow and looked a little annoyed as he dropped his cigarette butt to the ground to put it out. "But, that's cause I ain't a fucking fag. What'cha got for swapping?"

Abel did his best to look nervous as he sized up the two other men with McMannis. Then, slowly, he shoved his hand under the waistband of his pants and dug in the crotch for a minute before removing the quart sized plastic baggie full of little white tabs. Abel held it up, "Ex, best around. Good shit. Pharmaceutical grade."

"He'll like that," McMannis replied giving a shrug. "You're gonna have to come with me though and meet the King. Everybody's got to meet him."

Abel had followed McMannis that night. Three quarters of a mile, straight into Hell. Watching it through binoculars was nothing like standing next to the Devil himself.

The stench. Infected wounds, feces, blood, and bile. For the first time in his life Abel prayed for the death of a child. A quick merciful death for all of these children.

Leon and Abel shared the illusion of civil discourse before Leon clapped his hands loudly and asked for his 'pet' to bring out the meat.

A nude girl of sixteen or so came forward. A ground length fur cape was tied loosely around her neck. It offered her no protection from prying eyes and Abel could easily depict a number of deep cuts on her neck, chest, and thighs in various stages of healing. A series of rings cleanly pierced the skin of her neck and, it appeared, that her chain was run through them before it had been attached to the trolley line with a carabiner.

"Fuck," the word escaped Abel as no more than a whisper. He was so entranced by the horror of this child that he almost missed Leon approaching.

"I know," Leon whispered as he looked on next to Abel. "She is marvelous." The comment came out like the admiration a man would have for a fine wine, a classic car, or a painting.

"How much?" The words were whispered, prayer like, before Abel knew he had said them.

"Uh, uh, uh," Leon chuckled, shaking his finger. "She is mine. All mine. No other has ever touched her and lived. Besides," Leon said halfheartedly pushing Abel's shoulder in a jovial display, "don't want to get too greedy now do you?"

After Leon described the boys he saw on the edge of the camp 'Pet' was sent to retrieve them. Abel handed over the Ecstasy to McMannis who gave it to Leon. Leon called for his 'Pet' again and brought her up to his camp chair to kneel.

"Open," Leon commanded.

The girl opened her mouth obediently and Leon, balancing the tab on the tip of his buck knife, placed a single hit in the girl's mouth. Pet gave a little jerk as Leon withdrew the knife. "Tire her off in my coach," Leon commanded. McMannis appeared again, unwound the carabiner and chain, and took 'Pet' towards a coach to the left. 'Pet' turned her head slightly to look at Abel and the boys as she passed. She had protected the boys best she could. God only knew what horrors awaited them now….but, there was something she couldn't escape. He didn't seem like the other traders. He talked a game but, he was different. Damaged in a different way. It was subtle.

As she left and Abel met her eyes he could see a tiny drop of blood escaping from her lips. Fucker had cut her. Purposefully. Abel felt bile threaten the back of his throat.

Eight weeks later Abel was ready to trade again. New story. He would tell the traders the boys had died and he needed more.

In reality, Peter and Thomas, eleven and twelve respectively, had adjusted quickly. Resilient boy scouts, Abel had been startled at how easily they adapted at the silo. They had nightmares but, they seemed to comfort each other. D wouldn't let them go a slim minute without eating. She followed them around with bread and venison mothering them incessantly. The entire family was growing. Both in health and resolve.

The darker side was handled by Abel himself. The boys' firearm training was easy. They were eager to learn. A little too eager to kill. Marion, one of the sixteen year old twins, was good with a knife. Her brother, Marius, had little interest in combat. His medical skills however, were astounding for a boy of only sixteen. Marion explained that his autism leant itself to the title of sevant. They had been granted early admittance to Harvard Medical specifically to study pathology. Abel wasn't altogether that sure how useful pathology would be but, a steady hand for stitching was a valuable asset.

As a group, they studied hunting, tracking, and, utilizing a store mannequin, lethal stabbing injuries, knife fighting, and target practice.

It was just the day before Christmas Eve that Abel told Donetta he had to go again.

"I have to try for older boys," Abel explained weakly. "We will need larger, stronger, boys if we are going to survive this when we take their caravan. As it is now it could be years before Peter or Thomas are ready."

D wiped her hands on her apron turning to a cabinet where they kept canned goods the pulled down a stool so she could reach behind the canned peaches on the top shelf. She withdrew two bottles of Ketamine and placed them into Abel's startled hands. "Found it on a run with the girl," she said smiling as she held on to her husband's hand with the bottles. "I figured that it was something," she paused flinching just a little, "something he would like."

Abel just nodded.

"You know I'm coming with you."

Abel shook his head, "We've got to many here now woman. You'll have to stay in case,"

She cut him off "In case what, Husband? In case you don't come back? We're dead anyway if you don't. So, I'm coming with you to make sure you do." Her smile was soft but, final.

Abel brushed a stray black hair away from her forehead. "You will stay put at the truck when I go in. Won't have him seein' ya."

Donetta smiled nodding, "So Jealous you are Husband."

Abel kissed her softly. Chaste. A momentary peck between longtime comfortable lovers. He wouldn't realize it until later, while looking back but, this would be last kiss he gave his wife for quite some time.

That night they headed out. Didn't usually travel at night but, the boys and Abel had constructed a light rig with bright spot lights and studded and chained tires. The S-10 bounced over obstacles quite nicely and the tires ground up any walkers they ran over. It took less than ten hours before Abel ID'ed one of Leon's patrols from afar.

He parked the small truck under some brush with Donetta inside and walked in to make contact.

Cain, a slick Abercrombie and Fitch model type, put him through the same paces McMannis had only two months before. When Abel mentioned his previous trade, Cain's demeanor brightened, "You're the fag kiddie fucker that brought the Ex?"

Abel nodded.

"That was good shit. You got more?"

"I'm pretty sure that was a one time deal," Abel said shaking his head. "But, I've got better." Abel held up the bottle of clear liquid K.

"That what I think it is," Cain asked brightly.

"Well it ain't bottled water Son," Abel answered drolly.

"He'll trade for that," Cain said nodding his head enthusiastically. "Tomorrow, come on into the camp." Cain pointed up a nearby crest in the horizon. "I'll tell him you're coming. You want more boys? We got boys."

"Older," Abel groaned. "The last ones were a little," Abel seemed to think for a while trying to come up with the perfect adjective, "fragile."

Cain thought this was immensely funny. "Fragile," he guffawed. "You're good old man!"

Abel crawled into the cab with D when he was sure they were alone. He slept fitfully. The image of 'Pet' dancing in his unconscious mind.

The following morning Abel slipped out. He rustled D only slightly to tell her that he had gone. Then he took both bottles of Ketamine and left to the find the Devil for the second time.

Leon was nothing if not a man of repetitively grand gestures. Abel noticed a new and pronounced limp in his walk when he came forward. He seemed to sit more gingerly.

Again 'Pet' brought forward his purchases. This time however, both the boys and 'Pet' looked a little worse for wear. She was sporting a fresh black eye and her lip was split. This time Abel hadn't seen the boys in advance and was pleased to see that both the boys were old enough but, in horror he realized that, both boys had been carved on. One adorned with a number one and the other with a number two. Number one was missing two toes and had dried blood around his mouth. His tongue appeared obscenely swollen.

"What's wrong with this one?" Abel asked pointing at number one.

"He's a willful fuck is what's wrong with him," Leon spat. "Want's to talk about the great serpent, so I gave him a fucking serpent's tongue."

"He do that to you?" Abel asked, gesturing to Leon's leg.

Leon looked in his lap apparently trying to identify to what Abel was referring. "Lot of things happened since I saw you last," Leon growled. Looking up to meet Abel's gaze. The intensity in his eyes gave Abel pause. "You still want the girl?" It was a whispered dare and Abel wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Yeah," Abel breathed.

"Then you have to bring me something I want." Leon husked the phrase.

Abel raised an eyebrow.

"I want a willing Queen." It was a statement rather than a request.

Abel didn't know what to say. So he said nothing. Reaching forward to retrieve his purchases from 'Pet' he was startled to find that the girl was not only holding the boy's chains but, the tips of their fingers were touching hers on either side. To take the chains Abel put his hands over where their fingers touched joining all four of them in silent understanding. He looked into Pet's eyes as he spoke to Leon. "I'll see what I can do."

Pet loosed the chains and Abel took a few steps backwards before turning, with the boys, and disappearing into the woods.

Abel made it over the ridge, out of sight, before he turned to the boys. Both nude, they wore only hand ankle shackles. Their necks had been looped into the equation with smooth dog choke chains that tightened every time they let their hands drop past a certain point. For all intensive purposes they looked worse for wear that Thomas and Peter had. Beaten worse. The younger boys had been starved but, these boys, looked mutilated, starved, and shattered? Abel couldn't think of an appropriately strong adjective.

"I understand," Abel started, "that I will never understand what you've been through." The boys stared at the ground, mute. "The other two, from before, are alive."

Number two's eyes raised hesitantly.

"It really is all my wife's fault. She saw them," Abel jerked his head back toward the camp they had left, "and she," Abel paused. "Well, she tends to get her way."

Number two spoke, "We are for her?"

"NO," Abel barked. The boys both visibly flinched. Abel brought his volume down, "Shit, no boy. You aren't for anybody. Cept you're own self. But, we do ask that you come back with us. Get your strength up. Give my wife a chance to fuss over you. Then, if you're wantin' to, you can set out on your own. I'd like you to stay though. We are planning to, eventually, go after that monster. I know Peter and Thomas are in on it and we've got others."

Both boys remained silent.

"You don't have to decide now," Abel said softly. "I am to remove your chains, if that's okay. I'd really like some sort of recognition that you're not going to jump me while I'm working at your shackles. The last ones were awful rusty and it took more than the handcuff key." Abel lifted a long master cuff key from his pocket to show the boys his intention. While he waited for a response he noticed the neck chains were different. "Those," Abel pointed at the dog chains, "I'm gonna have to take off at the truck though. I've got bolt cutters." Still there was no response from either boy. Abel took a chance and reached out. He gently took two's cuffs in his hands and fed the tiny metal key into the lock. The cuff came off with a metal tick tick ticking sound. Slowly, Abel did the other side. No reaction from the boy. Being close to fifty, or maybe he already was, the year was going quickly, Abel didn't want to get on and off the ground multiple times so he reached slowly for one's hands.

One jerked his hands back, fists balled.

"S'okay boy," Abel said softly. "You want me to finish up with your brother first?"

Millimeter by Millimeter One looked up into Abel's eyes. Tears swum at the surface and Abel felt sick that they boy was so frightened, still. Sick but, he understood. One slowly extended his right hand palm up, and opened his fist. With an educated guess Abel gently placed the handcuff key into the boy's outstretched hand.

Suddenly, moving with an unexpected speed, One dropped to the ground and unlocked his brother's shackles. He then stood and removed his own cuffs. When he stooped again for his shackles he seemed to have trouble. Abel mutely waited.

After an additional two minutes it was obvious that One would not get his shackles undone. He stood, trembling slightly, and handed the key back to Abel.

"S'okay boy," Abel said reassuringly, "I've got tools and stuff at the truck. Little WD-40 them will pop right off." He gave the boy a smile.

Two reached out and put a hand on Abel's shoulder gently urging him to move out of the way. The boys met eyes for a moment before Two swept his brother's naked form into his arms. He took a moment to steady the load and then he motioned for Abel to lead the way.

Abel continued to the truck, keeping a slow pace, being mindful of the boys all the way. As he walked he filled the unsteady silence with the same question he had asked Thomas and Peter at this point of their emancipation.

"I feel kinda stupid calling you both boy," the hardened ex-enforcer admitted. "What do you say you tell me your names? Would that be okay? You don't have to tell me you're real names if you don't want to. Just something I can call you instead of boy."

There was a pause and then Abel heard the unsteady voice of Two, "My Mother called me Gabriel. My brother, he don't talk so good anymore."

An unsteady and decidedly annoyed grunt came from one.

Gabriel continued, "My brother's name is Michael. Don't call him Mike, he hates that." Abel gave a chuckle at the assertion of personal name preference in the midst of their ordeal. "Peter and Thomas," Gabriel started, "are those the boys, from before?"

"Yes, Son." Abel answered succinctly.

"And, they're okay?" Gabriel seemed to need to confirm it again.

"Yes." The feminine voice was thick with an accent that melodious to Abel. "They both grow like rats, fat on cheese," Donetta continued as she hopped off the tailgate of the S-10.

Both boys seemed slightly drawn back. They had, in truth been expecting something horrible to happen. But, now, a tiny black woman that sounded like she was from South America was telling them that the boys that had only just heard were dead were, in fact, living well. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much.

Neither boy made any effort themselves in front of this woman. They had been through too much in the last three months. Their nudity seemed…..inconsequential.

Donetta approached Abel and boys clucking her tongue disapprovingly. "I told you, stubborn husband, that you should have carried coats at least. They look frozen."

"They are frozen, woman. Quit your picking and get them some clothes. Also, my bolt cutters, if you don't mind."

Donetta busied herself under the truck topper before coming out with two pairs of jeans they had scavenged from a DAV on the way there. "28X34?" She posed it as a question.

"I wouldn't even know anymore," Gabriel breathed honestly.

Donetta gave a half smile, "Well then, Gabriel, why don't you put your brother down here on the tailgate and you can try them on." Donetta patted the tailgate to show him where to set Michael. Gabriel complied and, while he fought with the jeans, Donetta pulled a large fleece blanket from the truck bed. "This, Michael, is for you. At least until we get rid of those things," she said pointing to his ankles.

Gabriel had succeeded in getting the jeans on only to have them fall to his ankles almost immediatly. "No problems young man," Donetta declared brightly. "We have belts." Donetta tossed him a black belt followed by two T-shirts and a large LSU sweatshirt. When he had finally succeeded in layering until his was warm, for the first time in months, Donetta stepped back to admire the ensemble. Gabriel looked like a cancer patient. His cheeks were sallow, eyes sunken, skin dry, cut, and cracked in multiple places. She sighed. It would have to do for now. Abel was working on Michael's shackles and, after she had removed a pair of too large boots for Gabriel to cover his feet, Donetta turned her attention back to Michael. While Abel fussed over the second chain connection, Donetta leaned in to, at least, get Michael started with a sweatshirt (or ten). As she pushed into the truck next to him, Michael began to sob uncontrollably.

"No, no, no," Donetta cooed. Abel snapped the second chain joint and stood quickly, thinking that perhaps it was his proximity to the boy that had set him off. "Don't cry," Donetta climbed onto the gate next to him and pulled his head flush to her chest, "We will not be hurting you. Didn't Abel explain?" Donetta shot her husband an evil look as Abel backed away from the truck. In his haste, he almost fell over Gabriel who had kneeled next his brother's feet softly resting his head on them, in comfort, as his brother sobbed.

Donetta continued to softly murmur comfort to the boy. Abruptly the first sound, other than sobbing, that Abel had ever heard come from Michael, escaped his lips. "Pate," Michael blubbered. His mouth hadn't worked correctly since the night the Devil had "fixed it" with a pair of hedge clippers.

Donetta shook her head and looked towards Abel for explanation as Gabriel quietly joined his brother in tears. Abel knew, he should have said something, but, he feigned ignorance. This kind of information and his wife was libel to do something, rash.

Gabriel's trembling voice found its way to the truck bed. "Pet," he said.

"You are missing a pet?" Donetta asked. "This is why you are crying?"

"A girl," Gabriel offered, looking toward Abel, "named pet."

"What kind of name is this?" Donetta asked her husband for clarification.

"She was supposed to be his Queen, his slave." Abel sighed as he spoke. "But, I don't know, it wasn't like last time. Last time was horrible enough but, this time…. I think she did something he didn't like. She had bruises. He's not a guy that bruises people D. He cuts. This wasn't his sick fuck mind though. I think he was mad at her."

Gabriel's sobs seemed to increase more at this explanation. Abel looked down, utterly helpless to console the boy.

"Why is it that you did buy this girl as well?"

Abel took a deep breath. "Too much," he said simply. "He wanted too much. He wanted something I did not have."

Donetta gave him a quizzical look.

It was Gabriel, however, that answered her question. "He want's a replacement," he choked out. "He wants a different girl. Because of me because of us."

Now Abel was, genuinely, just as confused as D.

"She bit him," Gabriel croaked. "She heard him telling one of the others that he planned to cut us, before sale."

Abel felt like he might throw up.

Donetta looked to her husband for clarification, "What does this mean?"

"Like bulls," Abel breathed.

"She came to us to tell us," Gabriel continued. "So, we would be ready to fight. When he came for us she threw herself at him. She'd been banking on you," Gabriel looked up to Abel, "coming today. To buy. She knew she just had to preoccupied. So, she asked him to take her in front of us. To show us what a 'real man' was. She bit him." Gabriel looked off into the distance.

"His dick?" Abel asked for clarification. Not like it mattered. He just wanted to know as his admiration had grown twenty fold for the girl in the last twenty seconds.

"Naw," Gabriel whispered, "took his right nut though."

Abel nodded. 'Good' he thought. 'Fucking good.'

Abel starred his wife down, now. "We need to get these boys back. I'm sorry," he said firmly turning to both boys. "There's nothing we can do for her. I wont trade slaves. I may be southern and have white hair but, I'm not that old. We'll figure it out. We'll come back for her." Abel tried to sound reassuring but, he knew, in reality the girl didn't have another eight weeks. She might not have another eight hours. The madman had lost his fascination with her.

"No," Donetta said softly, "You are tired husband, and so are these boys. We will return to our home in the morning." Donetta placed a pair of canvas pants in Michael's lap. "I've got food in the cab Son," she said warmly trying to change the subject. "You two can curl up with Abel tonight in the back. I will sleep in the cab."

As the boys finished their meager feast of venison and saltines, they guzzled water by the gallon, Donetta pulled out blankets and made a pallet in the back. "You sleep here tonight boys," she said pointing. "Abel will be with you. The topper locks so, no dead persons will be climbing in next to you."

Once the boys were curled together in the back Abel took a long look at his wife. She didn't seem right. The news regarding the slave girl should have enraged her. She should have thrown a fit that he didn't bring her back. Cursed him, hit him, at the very least taken an angry 'timeout' in the cab but, she did none of these things. Maybe this was getting to be to much for her. Abel sighed, pressing a long kiss to her forehead. "Love you woman," he husked.

"And, I love you, Husband," she replied.

Once the boys and Abel were safely shut in the closed truck bed with the topper shutters securely fastened, Donetta watched through the small windows until they slept. Then, ever so slowly, she laid her shotgun against the back bumper and walked toward the fires of the caravan over the crest.

This is how Donetta Sokolov, drug courier, Russian mafia bride, wife, and mother, walked over a hill and into Hell. She met the Devil first hand that night. Struck her own faustian deal. The memories that would keep her warm in the following years were those of her husband, her children, and the beautiful daughter whose name she never knew. When the whip cracked in the upcoming endless 'sessions' Donetta would take comfort in those memories and the knowledge that she walked into Hell with her head held high, shoulders back, and when she looked the Devil in the eye, he flinched.

The following morning the roar of Abel Sokolov could be heard throughout the forest when he awoke to find the unconscious body of Rebecca Townsand chained to the steering wheel of his truck. The caravan campfires were cold and their tracks headed south. Donetta had to know the children would take precedence in his mind. She would have known that he couldn't track her and get them to safety. After he had seen the fire ash but, before he got back to the truck, Abel stopped next to a tree that had been blackened by lightning. And, in the privacy of that silent companion, Abel Sokolov, the "Russian Raptor," the killer of men, the enforcer for the family, sobbed like an eight-year old boy.

**Whew- that was a long one guys! Hope you liked it and I'll post again sometime this weekend with "The Scarred Children Run." That will get us back to Daryl and my beauteous Heroine Carol! Catch you guys this weekend and, as always,**

**Cheers and Happy Writing!**


	11. The Missile Silo Tour

********Author's Note ****I own nothing. Kirkland is a SciFi God among men and I am delighted to escape into his reality! Enjoy.**

**Side Note: My Grandfather took a terrible fall this week and I have been super busy because of that. I appreciate all of you who are continuing to read and I promise that I will get more updates up soon! I know I promise The Scarred Children Run next BUT, it got super super long so I decided to stick this portion up first and, hopefully, bring you the second section tomorrow! Hope everyone likes it, ****I promise back to my favorite SHIP soon****. CARYL ON!**

Present Day

Rebecca Townsand awoke every day at 5:30am. Rain or Shine. Monday through Sunday. Everyday, without fail. The habit came from her earliest memories with her father from before. He would get up at five to make it to the country club gym before the pre-dawn runners. Rebecca needed to be ready to leave the apartment for daycare by 5:45. 5:30am gave her just enough time pull on clothes, brush her hair, and wolf down two granola bars while tying her shoes. Ever the advocate of self sufficiency Alan had never seen a problem with this routine as long as she met him at the door at 5:45 everyday, without fail.

Rebecca's father had since died, with most of the rest of the world, she had been held captive by a sadistic madman, and now she lived on the bottom floor of a missile silo without any windows or indication external time but, still, without fail, five thirty every day her eyes opened. It wasn't really the very bottom of the silo, not really, that space was reserved for the septic pumps and generators. She was directly above though, close enough to keep her sedated by their intermittent whirring, Rebecca had made her space in a re-purposed supply storage area that had previously been used to house cellular communication components for the silo. After giving Marius a chance to sort through the detritus she had squeezed her bunk, bow, and other few belongings into the space. It was small but, it was hers. Just big enough for her to stretch out but, small enough that no one could sneak anywhere near her without being discovered. It wasn't like anyone could get through the nine levels above her but, just in case.

This particular morning Rebecca's eyes opened to pitch black. She was a minute early. Within sixty seconds the generators came on, cycling as they did every four hours, and a small indicator light next to Rebecca's door glowed a faint orange. The silo's power cells were charging. Orange was better than red. They must have retained some solar energy from yesterday.

Rebecca swung her legs over the bunk and quickly dressed in the near pitch black utilizing only the faint orange light to put hands on her boots. She looped her knife around her belt before heading for the door, dragging her hand along the wall so she didn't get disoriented. The silo had ten levels total, eleven if you counted the septic and generator room, and every inhabitant there knew them all by touch. Abel had insisted. Just in case of a complete power failure. When Rebecca got to the stairway she found the faint emergency lights glowing and she could easily depict her way to the ninth floor of inhabitation; Marius' lab.

She knew something was wrong as soon as she walked in the door. He usually had the work space well lit, better work, better vision, better focus. It was their most prominent power drain in the silo. Emptying the batteries every day, without fail, when it was in use. Today, this morning, the lab was dark except for the lamp by his desk. The tow headed boy of eighteen or so rocked softly in his desk chair as he scribbled notes in a spiral bound book. Rebecca could easily see, despite the dimmed light, that the surgical table was empty. The recovery gurney was neatly stripped and it's sheets had been removed to somewhere else. There were fresh slides on the counter. The box had a seventeen in slick, black, magic marker on the side. Rebecca approached, careful not to touch him or get too close.

"Mare," She started.

Marius' head whipped around as the seat rolled so he could face her. His eyes were heavy with tears but, his face was positively placid. This was something that Rebecca had learned to expect. Or, rather, expect that she would always not sure what she should expect. Marius was medical savant. Autistic, his reactions ranged the gamut from disinterest to extreme physical pain when he lost a patient. He rarely showed any true emotional attachment to them in their living state but, their act of dying seemed to impact him, regardless. He never wrote their names. Only numbers. Living patients were assigned a number for chart notes. When they died they got a different number, for pathology slides.

"When'd she go?" Rebecca kept the question short knowing that if it was too long he would disregard her completely.

"One twenty six am," Marius said flatly. "That was the time. I keep track." Marius paused and tapped the wind up desk clock that sat on the counter next to him. "It was three hundred two thousand nine hundred ninety seconds after bite. Approximately. Eighty seven hundred sixty four seconds from time of death to time of reanimation. Exactly."

"You should have woken one of us." Rebecca said softly.

"I prepared slides. Preserved." Marius rotated back in his chair.

"I could have helped you with that," Rebecca replied.

Marius shook softly and settled back into a gentle rocking motion.

"Mare?" Rebecca tried.

Marius began to hum.

"I'm going to go up to help Marion with Breakfast." Rebecca said, admitting defeat. "Do you want me to have one of the twins bring yours down?"

Marius hummed louder but, as Rebecca approached the door to the stairs he suddenly stopped. "Its by the doors. The outer doors. Double bagged for you and I took it all the way up. But," he paused momentarily appearing to deeply ponder his words, "I'm not allowed….out...without help. So, I left it there. For you. To take out."

Rebecca paused by the door, "That was very thoughtful of you Marius, Thank you."

"Don't bring food, I don't deserve it." Marius abruptly scribbled something in his notes. "I did bad. I couldn't save seventeen."

Rebecca cleared her throat and spoke with the 'direct firmness' that Marion had coached her on, "I'll have Gabriel bring your breakfast down Mare. You do deserve it. You saved me, remember?"

Marious smiled brightly, "Rebecca Townsand; patient number twenty nine. She did not become her number. Rebecca Townsand survived."

"Guilty as charged," Rebecca whispered.

"I would like eggs," Marius murmured, his nose buried in the pages of the journal.

"I'll see what I can do," Rebecca said as she exited into the hallway.

Thirteen stairs to the next landing and fourteen more to level eight. Rebecca pushed into the pitch black of the twins room and tapped the aftermarket button, just inside the door, that illuminated the track lighting surrounding the 'twin's track,' as Abel called. They got windows, the twins. They didn't point out or anything but, instead they pointed in; towards the main 'housing' compartment where surface to air projectiles had previously been stored. The circular room that the twins called home looped, like a track, around those windows creating a doughnut shape with the actual missile room in the middle. As the light traveled around the room Gabriel almost trampled Rebecca when he rushed by the door, doing laps, in the dark.

"Shit," Gabriel expelled the word with a gust of exhaled breath as he narrowly missed her, "I nearly ran you down Sis. Gotta put a bell on your damn neck." Gabriel continued on his path.

"I wanted to make sure you two were up," Rebecca started, "for...shit!" It was Rebecca's turn to curse as a soundless Bay brushed past her from behind. "You know, talk about putting bells on people's necks," Rebecca called after the duo.

Gabriel rounded the bend again, "She doesn't mean nothin' buy it," he said as he passed again. As if on cue Bay rounded the bend, appearing, even with her diminished stature her six year old legs to be closing the distance between her and her brother. She waved brightly to Rebecca as she passed.

Rebecca waved back as the girl passed, "I just came to make sure you were awake for breakfast. Can you stop for a blessed minute?" Rebecca sighed exasperated.

"No can do, Sis. We've got another sixty laps fore we get to five miles. Then I'm gonna teach short stack here how to do pull-ups. Right cockroach?" Gabriel ran the information together almost as quickly as he buzzed past Rebecca for a third time. Bay was even with her significantly older brother now and Rebecca watched as Gabriel dropped his left hand momentarily and constructed the abbreviated signs to explain to Bay what he was talking about with Rebecca.

Bay giggled before shouting "Right." The bark echoed against the concrete walls.

"Will you at least tell me where your brother is?" Rebecca groaned.

"Gym, I'd bet," Gabriel called from the opposite side of the room. "It was his day for upper body and core."

"Thanks," Rebecca muttered as she turned to leave.

"Hit the lights," Gabriel called.

Rebecca tapped the switch and the track lighting began to dim down to nothing. "I'm not stitching her up when she runs into the damn wall," she shot into the dark. The only response she got was the soft patter of sneakers.

Level seven had, almost entirely, been devoted to a gym. The only exception being a small archery range that ran in a narrow strip lengthwise parallel, well as parallel as possible in circular room, to one side wall.

Michael was counting pushups. He was somewhere in the five hundreds when Rebecca sidled up and sat on a weight bench.

Michael stopped momentarily, looked up at her, and smiled. It was an amazing sight.

He hadn't smiled for over a year. After they got out. Not until she had woken up. On Marius' gurney. They'd been together for a while when Rebecca got bit. No one even knew of their covert pseudo romance, until then. Abel had later confided that Michael had been inconsolable when they got back to the silo and did not eat or sleep until Rebecca woke up after her procedure.

When she had woken he had smiled. And, now, he didn't miss an opportunity.

"Hey you," she said, playfully.

He remained silent, with that smile.

"You know," she began, "your brother thinks he can see in the dark."

"Running with Bay, again?" Michael rasped. His voice, his tongue, had never healed right after the King. Even though Rebecca could understand him his accent had gone from a childish soft southern drawl to something decidedly serpentine.

"Yeah, I mean, I get it that he's trying to teach her to use all her senses. But, for God's sake, the girl can't hear. What other senses has she got?" Rebecca rambled to fill the space them.

Michael rolled onto his knees and extended his body to gently lay his head in her lap. "You worry too much," he said.

"I do not," Rebecca exclaimed. "If you were the one to stitch her up you would worry too!" Michael sighed against her lap. Rebecca softly stroked his hair. "You didn't sleep, did you?" She asked it, before she lost her nerve.

He shook his head lightly against her lap, "Naw."

"You know we could pull your stuff down to my level," Rebecca started. Michael took his head up from her lap and, meeting her eyes, shook his head.

"You know neither one of us would sleep then," he softly chidded. "My nightmares might stop but, you wouldn't sleep with someone else in the room. We've tried. It doesn't work," he reminded her.

"We could," Rebecca started.

She was silenced with a kiss. Her body immediately tensed. Fear. It was a cold habit that turned her blood to ice. She hated this part, her reaction to something so wonderful.

His lips were like velvet and she longed for nothing more than to have his lips, those lips, in other more discreet areas of her body. But, no matter how hard she tried, she was still afraid. It had gotten better though. They had been practicing. His hand came up and softly cupped her cheek as she heard herself sigh. Forcing relaxation. Or, maybe, she was actually beginning to genuinely relax? Gently his fingers stroked away a few stray black hairs and lightly caressed along her neck, her scars. Astonishing herself, Rebecca felt her hands go to his hair securing his head's position against hers. He must have taken this as some sort of unconscious signal and he let his hand drop from its' position on her neck to her right breast. Rebecca reared back, pulling away and falling on the floor behind the weight bench. Bile thick in her throat she coughed repeatedly to suppress the urge to vomit.

"I'm sorry," Michael began as he leaned into the weight bench where her body had been only moments before. "I didn't."

"It's not your fault," she coughed quietly. "I'm sorry. I just wasn't expecting…...I'm sorry."

"Fuck," Michael whispered into the hands that now covered his face, "I should've, we should've,...I'm sorry Rebecca." But, when Michael looked up again, she was already gone.

Levels six and five were the armory. Well stocked. Rebecca flipped the lighting switches on and off in each room doing a quick visual inventory, nothing out of place in either level.

Level four was the kitchen and where Marion slept. Technically she shared bunk space on three with Bay but, Bay rarely slept and Marion was always curing meat, canning fruit, or baking. The bustling kitchen was strangely comforting to Rebecca despite the fact that her father had never cooked. Rebecca surmised that Marion was what having a mother might have been like. Always busy, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of people.

This morning Marion's rail thin frame was bent over the kneading block. Her naturally platinum white blonde hair had been pulled back into a loose braid and she was busily beating the holy hell out of an extra large lump of bread dough. Flour covered most of her face and there were marks in it where Rebecca could easily tell she had been crying.

"Hey," Rebecca gave the greeting and waited for a response. Getting none, she continued, "Heard about Collette. I really thought she'd make it."

"Don't you mean number seventeen," Marion said bitterly to the dough.

"I mean Collette. I say what I mean, you know that Marion." Rebecca kept her voice even, calm.

Marion turned slightly and gave Rebecca a weak smile. "You know he didn't wake anybody? I went down there around two and he was just sawing into her head. I don't understand him. Eighteen years we've lived side by side and I'd give anything to know what he's thinking."

Rebecca approached her sister slowly with her arms extended. "You were the one who taught me that he doesn't always communicate like we do. To be patient. To work with him. He's saved all our lives times over Marion. The progress he's made with this fucking virus alone,"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Marion conceded while turning back to her work. "Don't you think I get it? He's a genius. I understand. I went to Harvard with him as sixteen just because of how much I understood." Marion blew a stray hair away from her face. "I'm a genius too you know. People forget that I was right there beside him at early entry. But, he's just got this understanding, this knowledge of the way things are working. I never got that and, he could never explain it to me. He just hums and rocks. But, mostly hums. Never a tune. Just noise." Rebecca let her friend vent and stood back for the inevitable. "So, I suppose he wants eggs." There it was. Regardless of how little Marion professed to know what was going on her brother's head she knew him. Knew him better than any of them.

"Yep," Rebecca answered.

"Before you take off on me," Marion began, "Our Father wants to talk to you. Said he wanted to send the twins on a run, for propane for me, and you on a hunting trek. We're running low on protein and Herd R1 is moving across here, probably tomorrow."

Rebecca sighed, then nodded before exiting. Taking a moment in the hallway she called back over her shoulder to Marion. "Eggs, don't forget."

"Abel's in the crow's nest," was all Marion replied.

Level three belonged to Bay and Marion. The room was empty but, Rebecca checked the light switch just to be safe. Nothing out of place. Marion's side of the room was clad in whites and lace. Bay's side had a myriad of stuffed animals, books, and puzzles that looked like they had been evenly distributed by a tornado. Rebecca smiled to herself.

Level two belonged to Our Father; Abel. Rebecca did not flip the switch in his room. Privacy was paramount to Abel. She tried to respect that. Besides, Marion had already told her where he was.

Level one was staging. The hangar doors that allowed access to the actual missile storage compartment had long since been sealed shut. Armor, daypacks, and various batteries littered the floor. A large bundle of wires came in from the outside on the wall farthest from the stairs. Outside they led to a variation of solar panels both large and small, inside they ran power to most of the silo. Somewhere in the eleventh level they tied in with the generators and a series of batteries but, Rebecca didn't really have a head for electrical engineering so, she left that to Marius and Gabriel. Rebecca crossed the small circular room and approached the outer exit door. There was an extra large heafty bag that, experience told her, would be triple bagged. A large number 17 was written on the outside of the bag in marker. She would have Gabriel dispose of these remains later in the pit. Rebecca used the two alligator clips that dangled from the room monitor and hooked them up to a car battery. The monitor and exterior cameras flashed to life. Three walkers. None of them too big. Rebecca unclipped the alligators and took a sizable machete from it's rack on the wall by the door. Rebecca stopped, only momentarily, to kiss fingers and press them against the photo of Donetta that hung by the door.

Taking a deep breath Rebecca pushed against the heavy metal. Once outside the let the door bang shut behind her and made quick work of the walkers to her right and left before crossing the small clearing to the largest oak tree in grove. There, at its top, more than forty feet in the air, on a small platform was the man she had learned to call Our Father. Abel Sokolov had lost a considerable amount of weight in the last two years that she had known him. His hair, always white, was now longer. His muscles were now leaner but, he was still a giant among survivors.

"Father," Rebecca called up. Abel looked down and smiled. "Marion said you wanted to send me on a run?" Abel nodded held up one finger telling her silently to wait he then slowly descended the rope ladder and gestured for her to follow him back to the silo entrance. Rebecca followed in silence. Once inside the front door Abel quickly stepped to the side and allowed Rebecca room to press a kiss to Donetta's picture before descending the stairs to his room.

Rebecca knew this drill. He wanted to write notes before he forgot. Once in his room Abel withdrew several maps and let them unfurl on his bed. He then selected the one he was after and took it to the table in the corner before drawing several lines on it with a ruler. Only then did Abel break the silence. "Q and R4 are going to run right into each other."

Rebecca drew in a little gasp and held it.

"Gonna make it a hellova trick for me to track them. Propane," Abel said setting down his pencil. "Your sister needs propane. She's running short. I'm gonna send the twins. I need you to go for a deer. When this big mother gets here," Abel thumped his pencil on the map pointedly, "we're gonna need more than what we have. Won't be making runs for a good month after that."

Rebecca nodded.

"I'll have Marion put together a bag for the boys for breakfast. I'm gonna have them take Bay, get her out of the house. I know you'll move faster alone though. Take the four wheeler we put in the grove, should be plenty of gas. But, be back by the evening. R1 is moving across here tomorrow sometime and I want you back in plenty of time to help batton down the hatches. The whole herd should only take a day or so to move through but, I'd rather have you back early. Better safe than sorry."

Rebecca nodded again before moving from the doorjam to leave. Abel made a little grunting noise and held out his arm. She approached him slowly. He never approached her, gave her that space. Once she was close enough, she leaned against his solid body and wrapped her arms around his torso. Abel briefly kissed her on the top of her head. Rebecca had no revulsion here. This man loved her without any desire for anything in return. "Be careful girl," he breathed into her hair.

"Always," she whispered into his chest.


	12. The Scarred Children Run

********AUTHOR'S NOTE********

**So happy, (SQUEE), to be back to my favorite SHIP. Once again, as always, I want any readers to know this is purely a work of FANFICTION and I do not make any money off of any of this. Nor do I own any of Kirkland's characters. Trust me, if I did, I wouldn't be writing on a computer that was this old! Hope you enjoy and, as always, happy writing! - P.S. - I know its been a minute since you've read 'The Bad Run' chapter. Don't forget, Carol sustained a relatively bad head injury in the car wreak that stranded our TWD crew in Dahlonega, GA! Its kind of important!**

Carol woke screaming. She dreamt of Ed and the pain from her head injury, sustained the day before in the wreck, was "breaking through" to her unconscious mind causing her memories of past pain to resurface.

It was the last Valentines Day they had shared as a couple. Carol had gone all out to make his favorites; steak and mashed potatoes with white gravy. As an afterthought, at the market, she had admired a small stone cherub on her way out near the door. Hank, the manager at her Piggly Wiggly, saw her looking.

"Hey there Mrs. Carol," Hank drawled.

"Hank," Carol acknowledged, looking down.

"You know," he said softly, "we're gonna put those little buggers on close-out tomorrow morning. If I had one less to look at wouldn't make my day any worse." Hank smiled gesturing to the little statue. "I'd be awful disappointed if you didn't take one off my hands."

"I couldn't," Carol began, stammering a little at the unsolicited kindness.

"Well, then, lucky for you I can," Hank said smiling. He stooped as Carol watched and picked up the tiny stone statue before placing it in her grocery bag. "No charge, just to make a pretty lady smile on Valentines Day."

Carol had blushed furiously before hurrying to her car and them home to make dinner. She should have known better, she would later think, she should have put the tiny statue back but, she didn't want to upset Hank. He had been so kind.

Later that night when, over a cold dinner, Ed had used that small statue to fracture her skull and create a wound that would warrant sixteen stitches, Carol would wish desperately she had listened to her gut.

"No, please Ed. No, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't. God. No." Carol thrashed on the thin mattress in the break room lounge area the group had used to bed down.

Daryl sat back on his heels chewing his thumbnail next to the mattress.

Maggie came rushing in. She and Merle had been working on retrofitting one of the two ambulances they'd found in the attached bay. They had heard the screaming outside. "Daryl, Jesus, why don't you wake her?" Maggie barked as she fell to her knees next to Carol's body.

"Won't wake," Daryl mumbled. There was something in his voice that Maggie hadn't heard before. Helplessness?

Maggie put her hands on Carol's shoulders, "Carol, it's Maggie," she said loudly. "You need to wake up, you're safe."

Suddenly, and much to the horror of both Daryl and Maggie, Carol sat bolt upright and let out a scream that would have put a banshee to shame. Daryl lurched forward knocking Maggie's hands out of the way and tried his hardest to lock his gaze with Carol's. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. "Woman, you're okay. You're safe. Understand?" Daryl watched as Carol's jaw muscles worked and her eyes slowly focused on his. She nodded, a slow jerking motion that was still scared and then the corners of her eye crinkled in pain. She brought one hand to her head. The previous day's injury was badly disorienting. Daryl slowly stroked the side of her face before bringing her into his embrace. "You scared me woman. Not supposed to do that." He flashed her a rare smile and she returned the favor.

"Sorry about that," Carol started. "I didn't wake anybody did I?"

Maggie chuckled, "We've been up for hours. Merle found an ambulance. If we can get this battery to start it, we've got a ride home. Plus it comes ready stocked with medical supplies. How's that for timing?"

"You let me sleep?" Carol gasped, a little put out that the group would go off on an endeavor and leave her behind.

"Didn't really have a choice," Maggie said giving Daryl a gentle shove on the arm. "This one wouldn't let us try and wake you. Didn't even know you were still asleep til, well….." Maggie looked over to Daryl for indication on where her comment should end.

Daryl stood and extended his arm to Carol. "Feel like trying to stand?" He said, motioning for her to take his hand. Carol stood, a bit shakily, and stumbled into his chest. It was solid there. Safe. She took a deep breath reveling in the scent. "Don't think I'd be much fun to be sniffin' this mornin' woman. Kinda rank after yesterday."

Carol smiled up at him. "As rank as you are. You'll never smell like him," she said softly.

Maggie looked over her shoulder, trying to give the couple some privacy. "Hate to break up the party," she said, "But, I did leave your brother outside with his front end hanging in an ambulance. Probably would be a good idea to go play lookout for him again."

Daryl nodded.

Carol looked a little startled. "What about the herd?" She asked looking between Daryl and Maggie for some sort of clarification.

"Most moved out before dawn," Daryl offered. "What was left this morning Merle and I cleaned up while Maggie sat with you."

Carol nodded and, in doing so, her head swam a little. She reached out and put her hand on Daryl's chest to steady herself.

"You should lay back down Woman," Daryl said matter of factly. "You aint well, need rest."

"No," Carol softly replied. "I've slept long enough. Lets go outside and see what we can do to help Merle."

"For starters," Merle barked gruffly from the door, "you can tell me when you're going in." Maggie Daryl and Carol all jumped a little and turned to see Merle proudly displaying a walker head impaled on his metal prosthetic.

"Jesus," Maggie gasped, "Do you have to bring it inside?"

"Well," Merle drawled, "I got 'er in one swish." Merle flailed his knife prosthetic demonstrating for the group. "And, its not like I'm gonna bring the other six feet in 'ere. Just sayin' I did pretty fucking good considering my lookout went jogging off without a never you mind."

"Awe," Maggie cooed moving forward. "You want a cookie, a medal, a trophy? How about a hug and some applesauce." Daryl clapped his brother on the shoulder and chuckled. Merle flipped Maggie the bird with his good hand.

"What I want, darlin'," Merle retorted, "is help outside from somebody that knows their ass from their elbow under the hood."

Daryl looked back to Carol and extended his hand. "Hold a man's tool?" He said smiling.

"Daryl Dixon," Maggie scolded playfully. "Did I just hear you make a joke?"

**THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL**

Across the street Michael and Gabriel were deeply focused on refilling two propane tanks and confiscating six more from the locked storeroom of a local hardware depot.

Michael grunted as he hefted the two propane tanks to his shoulders and headed towards the door. "You see Bay?" Michael called over his shoulder towards Gabriel.

Gabriel pulled two tanks to his own shoulders. "Thought you had an eye on her," Gabriel grunted.

Michael let his tanks drop to the floor with a clank and did a three sixty turn of the room. "Dude," he admonished, "you were supposed to be watching her." Suddenly Bay's motion caught Michael's eye as she leapt from the top of one shelving unit to the next. She then perched on the edge and cocked her head staring at her brothers. Smiling. "Fuck my life. Get down here rugrat!" Michael bellowed.

Bay just cocked her head the other direction, smiled and took off down the top row of the shelving units towards plumbing.

"You do know deaf don't mean yell louder, right bro?" Gabriel chuckled brushing past Michael's shoulder.

Michael sighed and pulled the his two tanks back up to his shoulders. "You've gotta catch her when its time to go." He asserted while setting his two tanks into the bed of the pickup. "I can't keep up with her."

Gabriel smirked. "It would help if you learned to sign. As it is now I'm the only one that'll talk to her, so she can understand much. Don't seem right that she gets a worldview through just my eyes."

Michael ignored Gabriel, for the most part, choosing only to reply "Well then, why don't you and your protegé bring out the last two tanks. We're gonna have to let Abel know this isn't a good spot anymore. The big tank in back is almost dead and these are the last of the little ones," he said gesturing to the few tanks in the back of the truck.

Gabriel nodded and headed back into the store. As he entered Bay brushed past him in a speedy exit. "Here she comes," Gabriel called over to his shoulder towards his brother. He got no answer.

Less than five minutes later Gabriel returned to find his brother perched on top of the truck's hood with a pair of binoculars resting against his eyes. Gabriel followed his line of sight and could make out four shapes moving across the street near the hospital's back entrance. They appeared to be milling around an ambulance.

"Walkers?" Gabriel quietly asked as he set the last two tanks in the truck bed.

Michael shook his head no.

Gabriel looked up at his brother. Michael's jaw was set. The muscles in his neck twitched and rolled as his teeth ground together.

"Gimme, I wanna see." Gabriel said firmly.

Michael silently handed over the binoculars to his brother.

As Gabriel got them to focus he could make out two men and two women. One of the men and one of the women appeared to be loading the ambulance with supplies. The other man seemed to be hovering around the second woman. He kept touching her and holding her against the ambulance in, what appeared to be, a firm effort to keep her from going anywhere. The men looked worse for the wear. They were disheveled; like they had slept on the floor or in a vehicle. One of them looked older than the other and he appeared to have a large knife in his hand with a walker head impaled on it. Gabriel watched in horror as the man brandished the knife repeatedly to both women causing them to open and close their mouths in horror and move away from him. The man with the knife seemed to get a great deal of amusement out of this. He laughed so loud Gabriel could almost hear him from across the street. The younger of the two men shoved the older man with the knife back and pointed adamantly to some boxes stacked next to the hospital wall.

When he did that, shoved his companion, Gabriel saw what Michael had been so tense about. The woman behind the younger man had horrible bruises on one side of her face and forehead and, when the younger man went to help load boxes, Gabriel watched as the woman touched her face and winced in pain. Gabriel took a deep steadying breath and lowered the binoculars.

"Traders." The brothers spoke the single word together.

"We can't get involved," Gabriel said, hating himself for the words even as he spoke them. "We've got Bay."

Michael nodded and motioned for the binoculars back. Gabriel acquiesced handing them over. Suddenly Michael sprung to his feet on the hood of the truck. "Mother Fuck," Michael hissed.

"What," Gabriel barked scanning the horizon for any sign of an unexpected herd.

Michael tossed his brother the binoculars as he slid off the hood of the truck. "Bay," he bit the name out with irritation pointing just past the traders they had identified.

Gabriel jumped into the truck as his brother turned the engine over and it roared to life. He brought the binoculars to his eyes as Michael skidded the vehicle out of the hardware parking lot and towards the hospital. In the distance, past the hospital, Gabriel could just make out the small form of his little sister. She was picking flowers, less than forty yards away from Traders. His stomach hit the floor.

**The next Chapter will be entitled: The Bitten. Its going to be a wild ride for the next five chapters or so! I'm going to try to post all five at once, in a selfish attempt to avoid raving hate mail *Rev grins fiendishly while rubbing her hands together like a melodrama villain.***

**I truly hope you have enjoyed this little story so far and I want to thank you for sticking with it! It has been a blast and I will continue to try to bring you more CARYL and METH coming up...although, Athlete Girl, most METH will not be until Chapter 19 or so but...it's coming. I worked it in just for you! Well, maybe a little bit for me, I'm too inspired by your naughty nurse series! I've got METH on the brain and Rooker in my dreams. ;-)**


	13. The Bitten

*******AUTHOR'S NOTE******* **I do not own TWD or any of it's characters. They belong to the vast empire of Kirkland! I do not make ANY MONEY off this. I own only my own imagination and the adventures it brings!******One other thing. PLEASE READ THE NEXT THREE CHAPTERS TOGETHER! Thanks & Cheers! Happy writing!**

Carol wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. She was crouched over the small girl, attempting to protect her, then there was pain. But, she had expected that. It wasn't really a completely thought out plan when Carol went blindly toward the girl who was placidly picking wildflowers while five walkers shuffled toward her from her behind. They were strays from last night's herd and, God only knows what they had been doing in the treeline but, the small girl's movements seemed to entice them. Carol had been distracted by the throbbing pain in her head and Merle's antics. When Daryl, finally, seemed satisfied that she would 'stay put' against the side of the ambulance he had gone in with Maggie to grab surgical equipment from the ER, leaving Merle to work on loading the rest of the ambulance. Carol would keep watch for him as he fiddled around with loading the boxes so two people could still fit in the back.

The ambulance was running. Maybe that was what had attracted the strays. In retrospect it probably wasn't a good idea to have it running but, Merle and Daryl had insisted. The battery was almost a goner and they said if the ambulance didn't stay running they probably couldn't start it again. So, Carol had sat on the hood of the rumbling emergency vehicle while Merle organized their haul. He kept coming into the cab and tapping on the windshield, making her jump, and then smiling and waving at her when she turned to see him.

"Just checkin' darlin'," he would say each time before heading back into the body of the vehicle. Carol gave him a weak smile and thumbs up each time before he headed back. The inordinately loud engine of the ambulance was only making her head hurt more and, honestly, she couldn't wait until they got underway and back to the prison. Not like the prison was quiet but, it was a far cry from sitting on a diesel engine. Merle dutifully checked on her three times before Carol saw the girl.

She was small. Malnourished but, obviously not living on her own. She was too well fed for that. She was clean. Her bushy hair tamed into neat cornrows down her scalp that terminated into small puffy balls. She wore a blue climbing harness over clothes that were obviously homemade but, in good condition. And, she was picking daisies not more than forty yards from the ambulance bay.

Carol screamed so loud that small dark spots threatened her vision and she felt an extreme pressure invade her skull. She screamed for help then screamed for the girl to run, but, the girl didn't acknowledged her presence or distress. Carol had the good sense to pull Daryl's large bowie knife from her belt, she still had it from yesterday. As she sprinted toward the girl screaming her vision swam and she stumbled before regaining her footing. Carol didn't even look behind her to see if anybody was coming to help. The girl didn't look up from flora and, at that point, Carol had the passing thought that she would end up looking completely ridiculous if this all turned out to be a hallucination.

Another incarnation of Sophia.

Maybe another nightmare.

This business with Daryl was too good to be true. Maybe this was the universe's way of balancing it all out?

Or, maybe, she had finally just lost her mind completely. She had lost so much already maybe this was going to be her brain's way of checking reality off the list too.

Whatever doubt Carol did have of the situation being a figment of her damaged psyche quickly evaporated when she put her knife through the lower jaw of the closest walker. The walker looked like it had once been a teenager, a girl, maybe...it was hard to tell now.

It was then that the living girl only a few yards from Carol's feet noticed her situation. Fear made the child's eyes open wider and begin to water. Her little jaw dropped open as Carol plunged her knife into the left eye socket of a walker in a Gas Company jump suit style uniform and when Carol spun to shove the third walker, a middle aged woman with greasy brown hair, down and grab the girl's hand the tiny sprite let out a wail that would have put most horror movie scream queens to shame.

The piercing pitch did not stop and Carol swept the girl up into her arms as the unearthly cry continued well past the lung capacity such a small child should have possessed.

The next thing Carol really remembered thinking was; 'Thank God, Daryl.' Carol had just stood fully and was taking the first step of her sprint back to salvation when she saw him. He was rounding the barrier from the ambulance bay with his bow ready. An arrow flew past her so close it whistled and took down the walker to her right. 'Thank God, Daryl.' Carol threw him a half smile and was immediately confused when his face crumpled.

He was screaming "No," and "Run Carol Run."

Carol never saw the child walker.

In life her name had been Rose Perkins. She liked playing touch football with her brothers, licking the mixer beaters after her mother made brownies, and reading about strange world records. Rose could have told you the name of the world's oldest dog and the point spread in the last Denver Broncos game. Rose loved her Mother very much and would have done anything for Her. So when Rose's Mother turned, after suffering a bite from her Grandpa, Rose stayed by her side until the end despite her Mother's protests and pleas. Rose felt very confident that it would be okay. Rose had been very wrong. Rose was eleven years old when the dead began to walk the streets and Rose was twelve when she joined them.

Very little goes on in a walker's brain. Random electrical impulses. Reptilian overdrive. In the future scientists would validate what Carol already knew from experience, the walkers "packed up" and came in herds. This would be confirmed to be part of the very little thought that still bumped around in there. Rose's Walker and her Mother's had left their ground level three bedroom apartment down the street from the hospital and joined a herd, more by instinct than actual decision. If anyone had been watching Rose and her Mother in that year and a half before her encounter with Carol they would have seen the slight female child walker shuffling only a foot or so behind her mother at all times. Hidden from view to most.

So, when Carol shoved Rose's mother to the ground and took off to run with her new charge it was no wonder that she hadn't seen Rose's slim frame hidden from view. Adrenaline was high. It was when Carol had turned away to run that Daryl realized the woman's falling to the ground did not take down the girl walker with it. Now, without her mother blocking her volley, Rose surged forward seizing Carol's left wrist and biting deep in the meat of her forearm.

The last thought that passed through Carol's mind was "protect the girl." Carol threw the walker girl off her arm as Rose took a second, smaller bite, of the back of Carol's tricep at shoulder. Reflexively Carol curled her body around the smaller living child in a last ditch attempt to protect the innocent girl until Daryl could reach them. The bites didn't hurt initially. Maybe it was shock in Carol's attempts to protect the child but, when the pain did begin, Carol was sure her arm was on fire.

Daryl's mind could not make sense of what was happening. The pieces wouldn't come together. He started toward Carol on instinct more than anything. Merle was right behind him and he heard Maggie scream as she sprinted to catch up. He had easily crossed the first ten yards when a truck bounced through the field past them and skidded to a stop next to Carol's huddled figure. Twin boys emerged and the girl jumped into one's arms. The other swiftly decapitated the child walker.

Twenty yards; Daryl watched as Carol writhed on the ground. The twin that had caught the girl lifted her into the truck bed and snapped some sort of safety line onto her blue harness. The other twin was over Carol attempting to pick her up.

Ten yards; Daryl screamed "STOP." The twin over Carol looked up and drew a gun.

Five yards; Daryl and Merle skidded to a stop with Maggie still ten yards behind them. The boy, and he was a boy, not more than twenty, had a gun. Determination was set in his features and for just a split second Daryl was certain that he was preparing to shoot Carol. Daryl roared. His roar was a word, the one word that he had sworn he would never say again after he left home. The one word his Father revelled in making him scream when he was a boy. As a man Daryl had sworn he would never say it again, to any man, for anything.

"Please," Daryl roared. "Please STOP."

To everyone's surprise, including his own, Michael leveled his gun at Daryl.

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Michael and Gabriel had seen the Corpses headed for Bay. They had seen the woman run. The fact that she had a knife the entire time was a complete surprise to them both. No words were exchanged in the cab when the Corpse girl had taken a bite of the woman. Michael just ground his teeth a little harder and Gabriel breathed a little faster. Adrenaline throwing them both into a focus that could only be found in combat.

Neither really had time to discuss these revelations as they pulled up alongside the woman and Bay. Michael saw the men and woman running towards them. And, as Bay lept into Gabriel's arms, Michael saw the woman's bites. She looked worse close up, than she had through the binoculars. The bruising was extensive and disappeared into her hairline. Even if she did have a knife it was obvious to Michael that someone had beat her. But, he reasoned internally, it was her choice, if she had a knife, to stay with this man. Michael gripped his gun unsure of what reaction they would get from the others. He would protect his family. No matter what the cost.

"Please," the younger man approaching him roared, "Please stop."

The woman moaned on the ground grasping at her left arm. Michael was suddenly gripped by a feeling of possessiveness that he couldn't quite describe. He turned the gun towards the trio in front of him.

"Which one of you did this?" He spat motioning to the woman's writing body.

The younger man seemed to be confused by his question, "She was bit, Son. Protecting your girl."

"Not that," Michael was irritated. "This," he said motioning to her body again.

Daryl was confused and panicked. He could feel the tension radiating off of Merle behind him and the older brother shifted his weight back and forth like he was balancing coiled springs.

"Don't shoot her," Daryl stammered, he was never nervous in combat and now it felt like his whole world was unravelling at the seams.

Michael rubbed his head with the back of his hand in his own demonstration of confusion.

"We'll take care of it," Merle grunted. "We take care of our own. Just get in your truck and leave, if'in you know what's good for ya'."

Michael was floored. They were going to kill her. Maybe not right away but, soon. They were treating it no better than rabid dogs. His lip curled and, without any more thought he yelled to his brother, "start the clock!"

Inside the cab Gabriel hit the stopwatch that was tapped to the truck's dashboard. He grabbed the small medkit from under the front bench seat before climbing into the bed of the truck with Bay.

"Hand her here," Gabriel called.

"NO," Daryl bellowed. He lurched forward toward the boy who was now stooping over Carol's body.

The next twenty seconds seemed like twenty minutes to Daryl. He would replay them in his mind over and over during the days to come.

There was a sudden searing pain in Daryl's left shoulder. The force of whatever hit him spun him backwards into his brother. The back of Daryl's head collided with the bridge of Merle's nose. Maggie screamed.

From his position on the ground he say the boy hand Carol's body into the truck bed to his twin. She moaned and thrashed half heartedly in his grasp.

Daryl watched her knife, his knife, fall the ground.

Daryl scrambled forward to claim it but, by the time his hand circled the hilt he heard a truck door slam.

Maggie was pressing her flannel shirt to his shoulder and the pain of it made his head swim.

"Daryl," Maggie said loudly. "Daryl, you're losing a lot of blood. We need to get you to the ambulance." Maggie turned her head looking at something to Daryl's left, "Merle put your undershirt on it. Get the blood under control."

"I know how to attend a broken nose woman!" Merle bellowed from somewhere in Daryl's periphery. "Fuckin' Hell," Suddenly Merles bloody face appeared next to Maggie's. He had stripped his own dirty undershirt off and was holding it up the blood gushing from his face. His words were now muffled by the cloth. "Which one of them shits had a fuckin' bow?"

Maggie's breathing wouldn't come out correctly and she was trying to speak over her anxiety ridden shuddering inhalations. "The girl. I think it was in the truck bed. The bolt looks small. I bet it was a child's bow. Fuck," Maggie cursed uncharacteristically, "I didn't see. It all happened so fast. It didn't go very deep but, we need to get him back to the ambulance and then to Daddy. I've got to get the bleeding stopped."

Daryl tried to shove them away. Sitting up too quickly he screamed Carol's name and then, much to his surprise, he passed out.

Daryl came to less than thirty seconds later. He was being carried, fireman style, by Merle. Someone had pulled the bolt from his shoulder. He watched as his blood dripped down Merle's back with each step his brother took. "CAROL," he bellowed. Under the exertion he passed out again.

Merle dropped his brother unceremoniously onto the gurney in the ambulance. Daryl woke for a second time. "Carol," he called.

Merle wanted to crawl into a hole and die. His broken nose was nothing. He should have done something, tried harder, but, he had let his brother take the lead. This was his woman. But, Merle knew, none of them had seen that coming. Fucking twins pulling up and hauling Carol off for…..Jesus, he didn't want to think about it.

"She ain't here," he said pulling the doors shut in the back of the ambulance.

"Carol," Daryl bellowed attempting to sit up again.

"Boy," Merle said more firmly pressing his hand to Daryl's chest to keep him flat. "She ain't here. Them boys took her. She got bit boy. She's lost."

"NO," Daryl screamed taking a wild swing in Merle's direction. Merle dodged it easily but, the exertion of the swing caused Daryl to, once again, lose consciousness. Maggie was pulling the ambulance out of the bay and Merle turned to look through the compartments for the gauze he had securely packed only ten minutes prior.

**EEEEeeeeekkkkk! - I know - Move on to "The Wounded Warriors"**


	14. The Wounded Warriors

*********AUTHOR'S NOTE **********I own nothing...(sigh)...I so wish I did! Have fun guys!**

Michael drove. Fast.

He knew that that Bay would be secured with the harness she always wore in the back of the truck but, he should have been more concerned about his brother and the woman back there as well. He wasn't, not really. Gabriel and he and run similar scenarios a dozen times. Bite victims. They had a system.

In the back of the truck Gabriel handed the medkit to Bay who, automatically, unzipped it and withdrew the syringe marked '1.'

"Sorry," Gabriel murmured, before he wrenched Carol by the right arm and flipped her onto her stomach so her left arm was closest to him.

Carol screamed.

Gabriel grabbed the '1' syringe from Bay and pulled the cap off with his teeth before burying the needle into Carol's butt, pushing the plunger, and tossing the syringe off the side of the moving truck.

Carol screamed again, this time thrashing enough to make Gabriel's job more difficult.

"Hey," Gabriel called, a little more forcefully than he intended. "We're not trying to hurt you. We are trying to help." It was weak. He knew it. "What's your name lady?" Gabriel asked the question hoping that, if he got her talking before Mare's valium cocktail he just gave her kicked in, she would answer a couple of necessary questions.

"Daryl's gonna kill you," she squeaked out against the metal of the truck bed.

"Really," Gabriel said, doing his best to act like he believed her, "well I better know who he is before he comes. Why would he kill me? He your husband?"

Bay handed Gabriel the syringe marked '2.' The vasoconstrictor in it would make the activated virus move more slowly.

"Yes," Carol breathed. "Wait, no," she corrected. "He's my friend."

"Really? Gonna kill me over a 'friend.'" Gabriel used the toe of his boot to pull the skin of Carol's left arm, around the bite, taught before injecting her multiple times around each bite with the number 2 syringe. It was a miracle, with the truck's bouncing, that he didn't hit his boot. He had in the past. Syringe number 2 went into the forest. Bay handed him number 3 as Carol screamed again. The pain from her blood vessel's clamping down around the bites added a whole new dimension of suffering the wounds.

Number 3 was the dye, the important one. Gabriel tapped on the back window of the truck cab. Michael held up five fingers and open and closed his hand. Gabriel would have ten seconds of smooth road. Bay leaned across Carol's body grasping her arm firmly. Gabriel hit a vein on the second try. Another miracle. Carol's veins began to change from a vibrant blue to a dark black around the bite by her shoulder. Gabriel gasped as the color climbed her arm and spanned into her left shoulder blade before disappearing.

"Shit," Gabriel whispered.

"What the Hell are you giving me?" Carol gasped as Michael turned the truck back onto gravel and her head was jostled roughly.

Gabriel made the sign for 'X' and Bay pulled the syringe from the bag. She held it out with a solemn look on her tiny face.

"I'm sorry," Gabriel said. "This is gonna hurt, there's no way around it." Gabriel pulled the cap off the syringe.

"Wait," Carol screamed.

Gabriel froze mid-action.

"My name," Carol found herself slurring her words. Unbeknownst to her the valium cocktail from the first injection was finally taking it's hold on her nervous system. "My name," she said again, "is Carol. And, if I'm going to die with you people, please go tell Daryl." With that, Carol succumbed to the a drug induced blackness.

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Daryl's mind was clouded with pain as Maggie maneuvered the ambulance at inhuman speeds down the road. The alternating potholes and washboard dangers sent him bouncing about the back compartment despite Merle's attempts to hold him still. Suddenly, his pain cleared for a no more than a few seconds, and, as clearly as if he had been holding her next to him, Daryl heard Carol scream.

They all heard it. It was in the distance. Merle would guesstimate two maybe three miles. Years of hard living after the world went to Hell had made their entire group hypersensitive to the smallest stimulus. Maybe five years ago they would have missed it but, not now.

The noise itself, the scream, seemed to have a life of it's own. Rife with pain and fear it hung in the air with ragged edges that felt like torn flesh. Maggie slammed on the brakes sending Merle, and subsequently Daryl, hurtling into the side of her seat.

Daryl screeched like a wounded animal but, the pain was not from his body. It was a broken piteous sound born of separation from his soul. The fingernails of his middle and pointer finger on his right hand peeled back as he made a valiant effort for the passenger side door handle before Merle re-secured him.

"No Little Brother," Merle said gruffly, "No. It's suicide and you're hurt. We've got to get you back."

Daryl continued to wail, grunt, and struggle against his Brother causing Maggie to be jostled repeatedly from the struggle. She sat dully in her seat. Unable to fully process what had just happened tears threatened to cloud her vision and she kept forgetting to breathe causing her body to take sudden shuddering inhalations. 'This is shock,' Maggie thought thickly. Her foot was barely keeping the brake depressed. Her hands resting softly on the wheel as she stared out the window and studied two sparrows fluttering in the leaves of nearby tree.

"We have to...," Daryl wailed, "We can't leave Her...," Daryl choked vomit threatening to come, "We have to, We can't..."

Merle held his brother to his chest as tightly as he could but, when Daryl finally succeeded in pulling his buck knife from his belt holster, Merle brought his left fist squarely across Daryl's jaw. Years of practice with their Father, then the Marines, and finally in the ring had made Merle a good judge of adequate force. He didn't want to break the boy's jaw but, he certainly didn't want to get stabbed. Merle was relieved when Daryl's body slumped against his chest and the knife fell to the floorboards giving a soft "tink" as it made contact with the worn metal of the old ambulance. Merle used the toe of his boot and kicked the knife forward to settle in the floorboard under the passenger seat before pulling Daryl's unconscious body back to the gurney.

Maggie and Merle heard the scream again. It was Carol. They both knew.

"Merle," Maggie ventured her voice tremulous with emotion.

Merle set his jaw looking down into the placid face of his unconscious baby brother. In a husky broken whisper Merle gave a single command; "Drive." A tear slipped from the big man's right eye. "A little farther and we shouldn't be able to hear her no more." Merle's voice cracked as he finished the sentence and he felt a foreign emotion deep in his gut. He mourned the loss of his baby brother's little mouse but, she was lost. Bit. Gone. Merle's gut cramped painfully and rasped "I don't want him wakin' up to that."

It would be the last thing any of them said until they got back to the prison.

Maggie moved her foot back to the gas and navigated the broken trio back to their home.

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Michael skidded the truck to a stop next to Abel's crow's nest tree. They never brought the vehicles this far in, unless it was an emergency. Bay was already out of the truck bed and running for the silo door when it came bursting open and Marion came flying out.

"Who was bit?" She cried, barely keeping her composure. She picked up a squirming, grunting, Bay and began to examine her.

"Get ya' Brother," Michael called from side of the truck bed. "We need 'em, NOW."

Marion disappeared back into the silo door as Gabriel and Michael maneuvered the Carol's unconcious form out of the truck bed. By the time they made it into the front door, Michael closed it behind them, Abel was already on level one.

"Who's this?" Abel motioned towards Carol.

"It's a long story," Michael offered. Gabriel just looked down at the woman he now held, "bridal style," in his arms.

"Shortin it," Abel grunted.

"She got bit, needs help." Michael said, matter of factly.

"We don't bring strangers here." Abel countered, his face flushing with anger.

"The Hell we don't old man," Michael began moving towards Abel ready to fight. "We,"

"She got bit protecting Bay," Gabriel suddenly blurted out. "Bay got away from us. We were letting her play and," Gabriel's attention was refocused on the counting coming from the stairs. Marius was counting his steps up to level one.

When Marius came shuffling onto the landing he didn't make eye contact with Michael or Gabriel; instead choosing to go directly to Carol's form and pick at her skin around the wound. "How long?" He said matter of factly.

"Ten eighty four," Michael said, referring to the number of seconds on the stopwatch when they had pulled up.

Marius wrinkled his brow briefly. "All three shots?"

Gabriel nodded, "And, X." Gabriel rolled Carol slightly in his arms to display her left shoulder blade rife with black lines.

Marius suddenly stuck his finger deep into the top bite mark and Carol's eyes snapped open. A choked scream belted from her lips before she passed out from the pain.

Marius nodded, "I'll try. Bring her down."

The group hurried down the stairs with Marius in the lead.

Before he could squeeze past him Abel reached out and grabbed Michael's shoulder. "Don't think we ain't gonna talk about you not keepin' a better eye on your sister."

Michael huffed and jerked his body away from Abel's reach. "I thought they were Traders. Alright?" He huffed turning away.

"What you think now?" Abel asked quietly as he followed his adoptive offspring down the stairs.

"I think I don't know what they were." Michael said quietly.

**One more chapter for this arc! Stick it out...please! - The Ring is next.**


	15. The Ring

**********WHEW******ONE MORE FOR THE DAY*****AUTHOR'S NOTE******I OWN NOTHING! KIRKLAND IS AMAZING AND I'M BLESSED FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO DANCE ON HIS STAGE!**

Carol would not wake again, not really.

Marion settled next to the head of her gurney attempting to get the woman to say a few words, anything, really, that would make sense. Marion had asked Gabriel the woman's name.

While Abel attempted to start a femoral IV Marion spoke loudly only inches from Carol's face.

"Carol," She called.

"Hmm….," Carol's eyes opened and closed a little before she moaned. "Lemme sleep Beth. I don't feel well."

"Carol my name is Marion," Marion tried again. "I need to know if you have family."

Carol attempted to reach out and touch Beth's face only to find her arm secured to a table of some kind. "You are my family Beth," she mumbled before closing her eyes again.

"Carol," Marion sighed, "Do you have a husband?"

Abruptly Carol screamed and Marion looked over to see her brother excising the area around the bite. "Jesus, Mare she's not out yet!" Marion screamed.

"Put her out," Marius mumbled, continuing his work undeterred.

Marion turned her attention back to Carol. Carol's eyes were now wide and panicked. "Beth," Carol gasped, "You've got to get Daryl. These children took me. I've been bitten. I'll hurt them. You have to get Daryl."

Marion stroked Carol's hair as she turned knob on the gas they used up and grasped the face mask one handed. "I lost him Carol." Marion lied. "I lost him in the woods and I can't find Daryl. Tell me where to find him and I'll bring him here, to you."

Carol seemed to nod her head slightly as Marion slipped the mask over her head. "The prison," Carol rasped. "South of Atlanta. You know the one, west central. Take this," Carol slapped her right hand lightly on the table. "It will remind him." With that Carol slipped into a welcome blackness.

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Carol was dreaming or, maybe remembering. She didn't know which. It was extremely disorienting.

_It was the first night at the prison. They hadn't yet cleared a way indoors and, under the light of meager fire, Carol watched Daryl keep vigilant watch on an overturned transport bus near the gate._

_Beth and Maggie were talking softly and Carol grasped a plate that was still half her food and added Daryl's portion to it before taking it to him._

_They talked. _

_So close she could feel his breath. _

_He touched her. _

_He tried to soothe her aching muscles. _

_She teased him._

_He got down first._

_He helped her down._

As Daryl grasped her body to help her slide down the back of the bus Carol felt her ring fall from it's loose position on her hand. She gave a little gasp and dropped to her knees in front of Daryl to look for it.

Daryl took a large step back confused. Carol looked up and caught his brief glimpse of panic. "I was….. no…. its not what you think," she stammered. "I lost my ring. My wedding ring." Carol leaned forward on her knees futilly examining the dirt in front of her.

Daryl scoffed. "What'cha need that for?"

Carol looked up an irritated look blemishing her fine features.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders, worried his thumbnail, and then stepped back to look around his own feet. He saw it first, in the soft greenish brown grass just inches from Carol's left hip, it glinted in the dimming firelight. Daryl stooped quickly, going down on one knee, and plucking the ring from the grass to hold it in front of Carol. She gave a little gasp and reached for it.

He held it tightly refusing to relinquish his grasp. "Why you want this, Woman?" Daryl grunted. "That man was nothin' but, troubles to you n' yours." Daryl looked at the ring briefly, choosing his words very carefully. "Ya' are worth more."

Carol gave a tight lipped smile. It was unusual to get more than ten words from Daryl and she'd been blessed with over a dozen. She covered the ring in his fingers with both of her hands. Surprisingly he didn't pull away. She sighed, "to remind me, that I can survive anything."

Daryl cocked his head slightly.

"It used to mean something else," she clarified. "A burden, servitude," she sighed again. This time the sound was heavier. It had the weight of all her time with Ed attached. "Slavery. But, after, I began to think of it differently." She plucked the ring from Daryl's fingers and, this time, he let her. "Its a reminder. I survived him. I survived this," she said gesturing around her, "I survived. Period. I'm beginning to think I've got nine lives." A nervous laugh escaped her mouth.

Daryl rocked back on his heels but, stayed crouched next to her. Suddenly, he produced a pair of heavy duty snips from an interior pocket under his poncho. He took the ring back from her and carefully snipped the metal.

"Daryl no," Carol started.

He met her eyes with that look. That look that said '_trust me_' , and she did.

Carol watched as Daryl bent the cut ring around his pinky until it snuggly fit his littlest digit. He then slid the 'sized down' ring off and held out his hand, motioning for her to give him hers.

Carol held out her left hand.

Daryl made a face, like he was suddenly realizing something. He motioned for her other hand.

Carol extended her right hand and Daryl carefully slid the ring on her finger. "Wouldn't have fit 'ya way it was," he grunted. Standing, he groaned as his knees popped. "You'd keep loosin' it."

Daryl held his hand down to Carol's still kneeling form. She grasped it and stood.

Together they walked back to the fire.

Unbeknownst to Carol, in the world of the conscious, Marius was making progress with her arm. Marion kept a careful watch on her vitals.

Rebecca had returned from her hunt with two deer.

The twins were dressing them out on level one while Abel explained the situation.

"First light," Abel continued, "you need to go for her husband. Name's Daryl. West Georgia Prison," Abel extended a map.

Rebecca took the folded paper, examined it, and nodded.

"Boy's fucked him up. Don't know what happened exactly but, she deserves her family if Marius can't chase 'it' down."

Rebecca nodded again.

"Girl," Abel closed the space between them, "be careful. Boys didn't leave it right. Pretty sure you're not gonna get a pleasant welcome."

Rebecca smiled, "Its nothing I can't handle Father."

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Daryl screamed through most of the night.

The folks from Woodbury grumbled at first but, as the night progressed, Daryl's wail did not cease and they knew there was something more at work here; something bigger. The torment in His cries seemed to increase as the night went on and, when Hershel exited Daryl's cell sometime in the early morning hours shaking his head, Rick cut him off to ask what could be done to bring some sort of peace to their tortured soldier.

Herschel shook his head again. "Rick, I've given him more Haldol than I should have already. Seen animals like that before, " Herschel took a deep and shuddering breath, "when they lose their mate, a member of the pack, or one of their young. Some of them shake it off, some of them have to mourn more than others, and some of them...well, some of them can't mourn. They can't seem to accept it. Those are the ones you see like this; wild, crazed with pain, suffering. They end up harming themselves just trying to get the pain out. They chew off paws or run themselves into barbed wire. Daryl's like that. I don't know..." Herschel didn't finish his sentence as he turned to walk away.

"Can't you give him anything else?" Rick pleaded with the older man. "For Christ's sake Herschel He's in pain."

Herschel shook his head, "If I give him anymore of the hard stuff I risk him going into a coma when he comes off the adrenaline. I don't know enough about barbiturate interactions to try mixing. Merle's in there with him so he won't be able to hurt himself...if it would come to that. Anyway, at the rate they're going, I'll plan on swinging by to stitch Merle up in the morning. I'll give Daryl another once over then." Herschel continued down the hall swinging on his crutches as he went.

Rick jumped slightly in the hallway when he heard Merle bellow from inside the cell. They had put up a thick comforter across the bars for some semblance of privacy so Daryl could suffer without an audience but, now, Rick was concerned that the two men would pummel each into an even more serious medical condition.

Rick reached inside just the first bar and pulled the comforter slightly to the side. Inside he could see Merle against the far wall, across from the cots. His face was a bloody mess of abrasions and there was a deep gash along his right bicep. Daryl was leaning into his brother, the top of his head flush against his older brother's chest, while he pummeled Merle's kidneys with everything he had. Daryl's left shoulder and arm were coated with blood from his injury but, if Daryl was still in physical pain, he didn't seem to notice.

Rick looked on in astonishment as Merle put his dead weight against his back to the wall and let Daryl go to town; Merle made no effort to stop him. Rick could tell Daryl didn't have much energy left. Daryl's face sported a freshly blooming black eye and a gash along his hairline that, while probably not that deep, was bleeding profusely. The blood on Daryl's face was streaked with tears and sweat that left an oddly gruesome pinstripe pattern.

Daryl screamed again and Rick watched as Merle cupped the back of Daryl's head with his good hand. The big man patted his little brother awkwardly as Daryl continued to utilize his older brother's torso as an oversized heavy bag.

Suddenly Merle roared a hollow sound at the far side of the cell. It echoed eerily off the concrete and into the night. This time, when Rick looked, he saw Merle meet his gaze with fresh tears in the hardened killer's eyes. Rick dropped the comforter back into place and walked away. His own sobs were quiet.

**WHEW*****THAT WAS A RIDE*****That's it till tomorrow. I should have "The Woman in White" up by tomorrow evening. THANK YOU AGAIN TO EVERYONE WHO CONTINUES TO READ! I REALLY FEEL BLESSED TO HAVE SUCH FANTASTIC CONTINUING READERS! THANK YOU!**


	16. The Woman in White

*******AUTHOR'S NOTE*******I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT FOR A IRRATIONAL OBSESSION WITH THE WALKER APOCALYPSE AND THE UP MOST RESPECT FOR KIRKLAND'S VISION*****CARYL ON!**

******Teeny Tiny Warning*****This chapter has our favorite boys acting not so nicely towards a woman. Please keep in mind the are ****_in pain _**** and ****_acting out because of it! _****That being said I super duper pinky swear that they don't do any lasting harm!**************

It was a few hours after breakfast the next day and Carl was up in the tower on watch. Breakfast had been terrible. Somehow Beth managed to burn the coffee, the toast, and the venison strips. Carl couldn't figure out how she managed to make everything taste so bad. His stomach gave a rumble of protest and turned over uncomfortably as Carl groaned and kicked his feet up onto the tower ledge. He was leaning back in the chair contemplating whether or not it was worth it to try and track Herschel down for some pepto when he heard the truck.

It wasn't one of theirs. He knew that much immediately. The rumbling diesel engine echoed throughout the clearing of trees several dozen seconds before the beat up white Chevy one ton came bouncing over the horizon. Carl almost fell backwards out of his chair in his haste to grab his binoculars. He strained his eyes through the binoculars but, was unable to make out any figures in the truck. Someone had retrofitted the vehicle with bars over the windshield and both side windows. The front of the truck had a massive pushbar and, what looked like, an old piece from the front of a snowplow welded on the front of that. He aimed out into the field of walkers and gave three warning shots in quick succession to warn his family in the prison. He then stood, stretched, and gently rested his rifle on the safety bars surrounding the top of the tower. Carl took a deep breath and focused through the scope. He brought the cold across his soul and "shut off" that part of him that he had overheard Shane talking about. "Shut it off, like a switch," he whispered into the Georgia air. He was now prepared to kill whatever, whoever, came out of the truck.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Rick was reading in the dining area while Carl was on watch that morning. He had so many other things he needed to be doing but, as of right then, Merle was across from him and something told Rick he needed to stay there with Merle. Merle's head was bowed in exhaustion over a bowl of instant oatmeal. He had missed breakfast after finally getting his brother to sleep. When he heard Beth starting the morning meal he had elected to collapse on the floor next to his brother's bunk rather than suffer through her cooking. When Merle had stumbled down the stairs a few hours later Rick had silently brought the big man the oatmeal. Merle seemed to regard the hot cereal with a great deal of thought before Rick interjected "Don't make me 'airplane' feed you like I did when Carl was little. You need to eat something."

Rick was halfway into chapter 6 of Gaiman's "American Gods" when he heard the truck engine. Panic seized his soul. Shots...one...two...three...

What the hell was he going to do? His best fighter was in a Haldol induced sleep and Merle looked like he'd been hit by a Mac Truck.

Rick heard Glen yell from the gate.

Rick's hand instinctively went to his gun checking its placement. He met Merle's eyes as he pushed away from the table. Merle grimaced in pain as he matched Rick's actions. "You good?" Rick asked raising an eyebrow.

"Don't seem like I got a'lotta choice," Merle responded through gritted teeth.

Rick heard Merle's back snap and, then, his shoulder pop as he tossed Merle the shotgun by the door. The two men headed outside together.

Maggie had been praying with her father and Beth when the warning shots sounded. Hershel's hand tightened around his youngest daughter's wrist and he met Maggie's eyes as he said "be careful." Maggie nodded and grabbed her machete as she darted from the cell.

Maggie met with Merle and Rick as they exited the building into the side yard closest to Carl's guard tower. All three of them sprinted to a winded Glenn who was rapidly stabbing walkers through the fence, trying to keep his view of the truck clear.

"Anyone get out?" Rick asked.

Glenn shook his head.

The truck had stopped twenty-five yards or so from the gate and cut its engine.

The group watched from the gate in astonishment as a hatch opened from the top of the cab of the truck. A stick with a long strip of white cloth protruded from the hatch and slowly began to move back and forth.

"Mother of God," Maggie breathed.

"Dad," Carl yelled from the tower. "Dad, what do I do?"

Rick stared at the truck waiting for some other sign of intent, anything. The walkers were beginning to head towards the cab and Rick wasn't sure if anyone would make it out of there alive regardless of what Carl did.

The group watched on in astonishment as a hooded figure dressed completely in white and creams pulled itself up through the hatch and stood on the top of the truck.

"Dad," Carl yelled with an increasing edge of panic.

"Stand down boy," Merle yelled gruffly snapping Rick out of his trance.

"Dad?" Carl screamed.

"Don't shoot Carl," Rick finally responded, "wait!" Rick looked up to see that Michonne had silently come up behind Carol and now had one hand resting on the boy's shoulder and the other on the barrel of his rifle. Rick redirected his attention to the truck.

The hooded figure reached back down into the hatch and, as the walkers continued to mob the truck, pulled two soiled looking bundles up from inside. Slowly the figure drug both bundles around the top of the truck in a circular motion. Whatever was in them seemed to work the walkers into a frenzy and, as the moaning of the dead increased, the hooded figure set one of the bundles down in between their feet and used both hands to swing the first bundle around their head before launching it, like a shot put, as far as they could manage. The bundle landed twenty or so yards to the left and a third of the walkers shuffled after it moaning as they went. The hooded figure repeated the same action with the second bundle and Carl watched through his scope as all, but two, of the remaining walkers shuffled after the second bundle off to the right. The figure then pulled a large curved machete from the folds of their garments and quickly took the heads from the two remaining walkers before jumping down from the hood of the truck and running full tilt for the front gate of the prison.

The figure in white moved with almost cat like litheness as it made easy work of the distance between the truck and the front gate.

"That's far enough," Merle yelled. The figure put it's hands up. White gloves were banded on either forearm by thick leather cuffs that extended from wrist to elbow.

"Who are you?" Rick called through the fence.

"What the fuck is in those bundles," Glen whispered trance like behind Rick. Rick refocused past the hooded figure at the walkers who were in a feeding frenzy. Both bundles were ripped open and bits of meat and tissue were being fought over.

"What is that?" Rick yelled pointing to the bundles on either side of the trucks.

There was a visible sigh from the figure as it pulled the hood back the face mask down. "Which question do you want answered first because I'm not going to have time for both?" Rick backed up slightly shaken by the woman in white who stood before him. She was light-skinned but, exotic, with a thick braid of black hair that fell free from the hood when she pulled it back. She looked no older than twenty, probably younger but, a series of thick, ugly, scars marred her perfect complexion as they snaked down from under her chin only to disappear into the folds of her cloak at her collar.

"Who are you?" Rick repeated firmly.

"My name is Rebecca Townsand and, before you bother asking, I'm here for Daryl," the girl said flatly.

"What for?" Rick shot back, unfazed.

Rebecca looked over her shoulder hesitantly. The dead were finishing up the bait and it would only be a matter of time before they came toward the fences again. "Look, I want to sit down and have coffee with you as much as the next Avon Lady," Rebecca spat. "But, I'm kind of in a 'high pressure' situation here and I'd appreciate you opening the gate so we can discuss this in a more secure setting."

"What for?" Rick repeated.

"Man this is a one time offer," Rebecca bluffed, "I can turn around here and leave without him no problem." Rebecca ducked to the side as a large walker in a janitorial jumpsuit lunged at her. Her machete came down with practiced accuracy decapitating it in one fell blow.

"Bullshit," Merle spat. Merle was not as practiced in interrogation as Rick but, he knew a damn lie when he heard one and this little cunt was lying.

"Carol," Rebecca yelled, "We have Carol." Rebecca brought her machete down again neatly separating a rotting walker from it's head. That statement wasn't a lie and Merle choked a little hiding it in a gruff clearing of his throat.

Maggie let out a little gasp covering her mouth.

"Where's the body?" Rick yelled his hand gripping and re-gripping the butt of his gun. "Where is she? Is that what was in those things?" Rick screamed pointing out at the strewn flesh that the walkers had made short work of.

"No, Jesus..," Rebecca's reaction was one of utter shock. "She was alive when I left her this morning. My people worked on her all night but, I need an O+ donor and I really need her husband, Daryl."

Rick couldn't contain his astonishment.

"Look," Rebecca groaned as she swung her machete upward through the jaw and frontal lobe of a third walker, "I was sent to get Daryl and hopefully a donor but," Rebecca caught her ragged breath as she leaned against the gate before using her boot to crush the rolling head of the second decapitated walker, "It will all mean precisely dog shit if I don't get in there before these things kill me. You won't know how to find your way there if I'm dead."

"Open the gate," Maggie screamed. "Open the gate right now." Maggie slapped Glen on the shoulder encouraging him to pull the ropes that would separate the heavy steel doors.

"Maggie, we don't know her," Rick uttered.

Maggie leveled her gaze to meet Rick's eyes as Rebecca darted in and then worked with Glen to close the gate. "You didn't know me once either," Maggie said. "I'm not saying we keep her here but, don't leave her out there. You trusted me once to get Lori for Carl, trust me now about this."

Merle deftly plucked the machete from Rebecca's hands. It wasn't very difficult as Rebecca had already lifted both hands above her head but, still, she admired the gimp's dexterity. Merle gruffly kicked the back of her knees and Rebecca hit the ground, hard. She was pissed. She understood but, she was still pissed. Glen came forward and patted her down removing the Glock from the inner pocket of her cloak. "I'm gonna want that back, Sir," Rebecca said through a tight lipped smile. Glean cleared the weapon and handed it off to Rick.

Rick crouched down in front of Rebecca, "Where's your camp?"

"Doesn't work like that Hoss," Rebecca said. "I was told to get Daryl. That's why I'm here. I'm not mapquest, I'm a post apocalyptic God damn taxi and you're not Daryl. Get me Daryl."

Merle tossed his shotgun to the ground and grabbed Rebecca by her braid. Wrenching her head back at a painful angle, he growled "Officer Friendly asked you a question girle. I suggest you answer it before we have a problem."

Maggie screeched and Glen held her back.

Rebecca licked her lips slowly, grinning over clenched teeth as she uttered, "Well tell Officer Friendly that if he doesn't call off his dog I'll take the mutt's other paw."

Merle roared and pulled his metal covered stump back like he meant to strike her. She was prepared for the blow but, not for what actually happened. Merle stopped only an inch or so short of her nose and, shoving Rebecca into the dirt, he brought down his stump down with a muted thud next to her head as he roared in frustration.

Rebecca got a mouthful of dirt and mud. She tasted copper on her lips as she pushed off the ground slowly and resumed her place on her knees eye to eye with Rick. Her breathing was measured and even. "I know you're not Daryl. In fact, I'd bet none of you are him," Rebecca said loudly looking at the gathered group. "I know I've got the right place though, cause you let me in. I talk to Daryl and you can send someone with him, whoever you want." Rebecca spit mud and blood onto the ground. "Please understand that whatever you do to me, I've been through worse. There is literally nothing you can threaten me with that I haven't already been threatened with or endured before. I didn't think your group would be like this. Marion said Carol is so," Rebecca paused, "not this. That being said, the only time you're wasting is Carol's. She needs blood. She needs a reason to survive this. If we can't get her those things in time; she won't survive. Your call."

"You wanna talk to me so damn bad, talk," Daryl drawled from the shadowed edge of the shed wall. The entire group spun to see Daryl propped against the wall between the pigpen and the salvage shed. When he had come out no one really knew. Even injured he still moved with precision and stealth of a seasoned tracker.

Daryl looked like hell. Dried blood and sweat covered the mass of bruises that was his face. His shoulder sported fresh bandages and was secured to his chest with torn pieces of cloth. His breathing wasn't steady and, even though he would never admit it, Rick saw him stumble as he pushed off the wall. "Seems like you've gone through a whole heap o'shit to get here," Daryl said smoothly advancing. "If'n I went through a tussle like that I'd be fucking VERBOSE when the fucker I came to talk to crawled up out'a Hell to chat with me. Fucking Ver-bose."

Rebecca was speechless. Did her brothers do all that? She cut her eyes to Merle then Rick before slowly rising to her feet. "Daryl?" She whispered.

"All this fuss an I'm over here thinking you don't know who the fuck I even am," Daryl's face seemed to screw up in a momentary reflex of agony. "And, that's got me thinking more n' more that Carol didn't send you for shit. Carol," Daryl's voice cracked, "Carol was bit up at the shoulder goin' on," Daryl paused to look up at the sun, "twenty hours ago. If'n she ain't dead now she will be before we get done with this fucking circle jerk. Don't know who you are, don't care."

"Please," Rebecca uttered.

Daryl launched himself onto her form faster than anyone could have imagined. His knife out and pressed into her throat. He choked on his words as he spit them out, "Don't. You don't fucking get to say please to me. I begged that boy that took her. I begged him please. He didn't stop, he didn't take a fucking minute to ask who I was. Don't you dare say please to me."

Rebecca tried to hide her shaking. This man was beyond hurting. In her experience men like this hurt others just to spread their misery around. "My right hand. Take the glove off my right hand." She raised it trembling and Rick stepped on the wrist before wrenching the glove from her hand. "Look plea...I mean look. Look at the ring." Daryl cut his eyes to her naked hand. On her thumb was the simple gold band that he had snipped so Carol could keep sizing it down on her shrinking form. There was no possible way he could mistake it for any other; it was Carol's wedding ring. Her ring from Ed.

"She said to bring it," Rebecca was nervous now and she licked the sweat from her upper lip. "She said to bring it to 'remind' you. She acted like you'd understand what it meant."

Daryl slowly laid his knife next to Rebecca's head and grasped the ring. He slipped it off Rebecca's thumb and onto his pinky. He took several deep and steadying breaths before regripping his knife and considering his next move.

Slowly, Daryl pushed off Rebecca's prone form and slid the knife back into his belt as he stayed crouched on the dirt in front of her. Rebecca scrambled away from him until her back hit Glen's legs. Daryl's entire body was vibrating. "Where we goin?" Daryl's voice was so quiet Rebecca almost thought she didn't hear him.

"Back towards the Appalachians," Rebecca said standing up on shaky legs. "North from here towards Dahlonega again. Then north from there, Blue Ridge territory. Are you O+?"

Daryl nodded his head towards Merle, "We both are."

"Fucking wonderful," Rebecca muttered eyeing Merle, "Just fucking wonderful."

"That's too far," Rick sputtered.

"We'll lose the light if we don't leave soon," Daryl softly said.

"You're in no condition to travel," Herschel chimed in from the steps he was descending into the courtyard.

"Ain't up to you," Merle barked. "Last I checked this wern't no real prison and if my baby brother wants to go, I got him." Merle looked around at the blanched faces of their group. Beth was softly crying behind her father. "Look you people we been through worse than this. Just another day round here from what I can figure."

"We have no guarantees what you're going in to," Herschel reasoned. "No assurances that what they have done even worked."

"That's why they sent me," Rebecca said firmly. The gathered group watched as she dropped the leather cuffs from both her forearms. She pulled off her left glove and dropped it to the ground next to her forgotten right glove that Rick had removed. Rolling up both her sleeves Rebecca held both her arms out to the white haired patriarch.

Herschel gently turned both her arms examining the webwork of scars. Rebecca was missing the pinky and ring finger from her left hand as well as a large "bite" out of her left forearm. The palm of her left hand curved in forming a "C" where the digits should have been. The right hand was intact but the chunks of flesh missing from that forearm were larger. Several neat surgical scars looped all the way around her arms. Herschel examined the scars with more than a little professional appreciation. The wounds were completely healed but he could still see the angry pink indents where the bites and subsequent incisions had been. These scars were not old, two years at most.

"When?" Herschel asked raising a bushy eyebrow.

"Year and a half ago," Rebecca replied flatly. "I was on a deep run near Birmingham. Medical Supply warehouse. I was ...lucky. We were traveling with Our Brother, our ... medic of sorts. He's the one who figured out our treatment. You can't cure it once it hits the brain but, if you act fast, you can get it out. He's developed a series of protocols and we've been able to save a little over half. Radical surgery, desiccants, wound care, there's a reagent he's made that can check for it, make sure he gets it all..." Rebecca trailed off looking at her own forearms. "He didn't have that with me. He had to take wide edges. He had to be sure. But," Rebecca looked down at Herschel's stump, "I think you already know how that goes."

"No after effects?" Herschel asked releasing her arms.

Rebecca chuckled as she started to redress and reinforce her ruined forearms. "I don't remember getting home. Over four hundred miles they drug me. I was out for three weeks. The fever came days after the bite, infection...regular old bacterial infection. To be honest I was in and out for that but, I don't remember a whole lot. They thought I stroked out at one point from shock. Old man, the after effects make surgery without anesthesia seem like a cakewalk. You piss fire, your lungs burn, your chest feels like a hundred pound porcupine is rooting around in there, and you pray to God to take you home."

"I didn't," Herschel began.

"No, you wouldn't have," Rebecca interrupted. "Whoever did you took the whole leg. Mare, Our Brother,...he's trying to save limb functionality. Because, unless you've got these yokels to defend you how long do you think you'd last out there without a leg? A person without a limb in this world is just a walking corpse in waiting. There's a price though. You keep the limb you get the toxins in your bloodstream from the dying tissue. He can grab the activated viral tissue but, those toxins do a number on your circulatory system. A third of who we've lost have been heart attacks, others go to stroke, even aneurysm. She, Carol, needs clean blood transfused to help dilute the toxicity of her blood and she needs a reason to try and live." Rebecca snatched the gloves off the ground and turned her attention to Daryl. "So, we doin' this or not?" She asked.

Daryl gave an almost imperceptible nod.

A stupid grin spread across Merle's face, "Road trip little brother," he said as he slapped Daryl on the back. "We're gonna get ya' woman back. Things is lookin' up. You think she'll let us stop by the Grand Canyon on the way back? I always wanted to see that."

"Wrong direction asshat," Daryl muttered.

"Jesus...," Rebecca muttered shaking her head, "Jesus help me."

**Whew, that was fun! Well the next installment "The Road Trip" should be out soon. Hope to get in posted by Tuesday Evening. As always, Thank You SO MUCH for your continuing reads and support. You guys kick butt! Cheers and Happy Writing. - P.S.- Don't worry I'll get Beth there too, just give me a couple of chapters!**


	17. The Road Trip

*********AUTHOR'S NOTE AND WARNING!*********I, LIKE ALWAYS, OWN NOTHING. EXCEPT A RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF DEBT FOR SOMEONE IN THEIR 30's BUT, AW, WELL... TWD ROCKS BUT, ALAS I MAKE NO MONEY OFF THIS BECAUSE, THEY ARE NOT MY CHARACTERS! **

*******WARNING*****THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE 'N-WORD' - WE WILL ALSO BE CHECKING IN WITH LEON! VERY BRIEF, NOT DESCRIPTIVE, BUT IMPLIED TORTURE! IF YOU DON'T THINK YOU SHOULD READ THIS IT IS IN THE LAST SECTION! - IF YOU DO DECIDE TO READ IT CHECK A MAP FOR HIS LOCATION - HINT - HINT - FORESHADOWING!**

Rick hated the idea of his heaviest muscle going for a road trip with a stranger. He tried to poke as many holes in Rebecca's plan over the hour as he could. The truck was diesel and got horrible gas mileage. But, she had a fifty gallon reservoir in the bed. The bloody bundles Rebecca had thrown to the walkers were disconcerting until Rebecca explained that the contents were rabbit entrails "flavored" with old clotted blood they couldn't use. Donated for other bite victims or, drained from their corpses before they turned for just this purpose. Clotted human blood didn't sit well with Rick but, at least they weren't out there harvesting blood from unwilling donors or killing people. In the end Merle was right. This wasn't a real prison and if they wanted to leave he would be hard pressed to stop them. He would rather they leave on good terms, terms that might bring at least Daryl back to them.

No body corrected Rebecca's earlier assumption that Daryl was Carol's husband. Rick knew both his friends felt deeply for each other. There was bond there, something tangible. Neither had ever made a relationship public, if there even was one, but, Rick suspected the Hunter couldn't take much more of this. He had seen the first cracks when they lost Sophia, then when Carol went missing in the tombs, but, this last time had been the hardest. Daryl had seen it and couldn't stop it. Rick feared that if the unlikely trio' arrived at the mountains to find Carol turned he would never see his friend again.

Rebecca promised that they would send a messenger. "When we come, we'll wear mostly white. It's our way. Probably on a dirt bike, we don't usually use the truck for much except runs but, I didn't know how many people I'd be havin' to haul back. It'll be a bit, though," she cautioned, "I just missed herd R1 on my way out. Our Father has been tracking a larger group Q and R4. He thinks they are going to join and pass over us. We are secure but, it'll be at least a week, maybe as much as a month, before we can get out again, once the herd starts through."

"How," Herschel began.

Rebecca smiled as she cut him off, "We radio tag them. I know it seems stupid. Why tag them when you can kill them? But, we were losing more people and resources avoiding herds. Once we started tracking them we could just avoid them."

"We would sure love to get our hands on some of that information." Rick said it before he realized he had even opened his mouth.

Rebecca nodded. "We have a couple of extra monitors. If this," she motioned to Merle and Daryl, "works out maybe I can convince one of my brothers to make the first run back and set you up with something. We'll see. Maybe we can work together." Rebecca sighed turning toward Glen, "baby steps first. Can I have my Father's gun back please."

In the end Glen handed the Glock back to Rebecca muttering a , "Sorry," under his breath.

Maggie gave her a brief hug. "Bring her home to us, please." Rebecca gave her a nod.

Rick clapped Daryl into a stiff hug. Neither one of them spoke, they just exchanged brief nods.

Merle didn't really expect a goodbye from any of these idiots. He was actually excited for the first time since he left Woodbarry. He had felt positively useless around this place and, maybe, he did belong on the road more. This would be good for him and his brother. A chance to get his brother's mouse back and, Merle thought, absolve his soul for not acting more quickly at the hospital. Merle's mind was was already on fresh rabbit over an open fire when Beth Green softly kissed his left cheek from her perch on the stairs. It was just a peck, nothing more. Merle's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. "Whad'ya do that for?"

Beth examined her feet for a moment before meeting his gaze through long eyelashes. "No one told you goodbye."

"Don't pity me girl," Merle grumbled.

"If I pitied you," Beth replied sweetly, "I wouldn't have bothered. I'll miss you Merle Dixon, you make me feel safe."

Glenn scoffed and Maggie slapped his shoulder.

Merle thought the girl was insane. She was hot as Hell but, obviously 'touched' in the mind. No one "missed" him. No one. Not ever. 'What a child,' Merle thought, 'don't need her. Don't need nobody.' Merle looked back into Beth's sweet face and instead of all the non committal apathetic hate that was bumping around his brain he simply breathed "Thanks." Beth's lips bloomed into a wide smile and Merle thought he must be getting sick. Too bad before such an important trip, his heart had just twitched in a funny way in his chest, it had never done that before.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

It was more than two full hours into the trio's road trip before any of them spoke.

It was Merle who broke the uncomfortable silence, "So," he stretched the word out. It came out more like, 'sooooooo', "exactly where we goin'?"

Rebecca suddenly veered the truck off the road and sped up into the middle of a field. There were only two walkers in sight and she had a good three sixty visual if any others decided to approach.

"Get out," she spat.

Merle was taken somewhat off guard. "Darlin' I know we had our differences back at the prison but, just cause yer Aunt Flo's in town ain't reason to kick me outa bed for eatin' crackers."

Daryl's right hand shot out like it was spring loaded and thumped Merle on the chest. "Shut'it," he hissed.

"You too," Rebecca gritted her teeth as she spoke. "There are some things I'd like to get straight before we get there. Both of you OUT." Rebecca opened the driver's side door and slide out. Daryl went to exit that door as well and she slammed it in his face as he scooted towards the exit from his spot on the middle of the bench seat.

It was Daryl's turn to be pissed.

Merle exited on the passenger side and Daryl switched sides to slide out after him.

Daryl slammed the door after his feet touched the ground and turned to see Rebecca making short work of the two walkers in the field.

"Girl," Merle called after her, "we're wastin' time so if there's something you're needin' off ya chest; out with it."

Rebecca whirled on the larger brother, her eye's ablaze. "Something I need off my chest? My Aunt Flow perhaps? Or, maybe, its the bruises on Carol. The scars on her back. Which one of you did it? Whichever one of you it is I can't have you at my home."

Merle opened and closed his mouth repeatedly and Daryl thought, briefly, that his older brother did quite an impression of a carp.

"Car wreck," Daryl rasped. "Day 'fore yesterday. Can show you where, when we get close."

Rebecca nodded, "The scars?"

Daryl felt disgusted. This girl didn't know him but, still, the idea that he could marr Carol's porcelain skin was offensive. He made a sour face.

"You," Rebecca asked, turning to Merle.

"Now see here," Merle began, advancing on Rebecca. "I done a whole mess 'o shit but, I don't never…." Merle never had a chance to finish his sentence as Rebecca landed a solid right hook, splitting his lower lip. He didn't go down. Compared to what he'd endured in the past it hardly phased him but, it was startling as hell and the taste of pennies flooded his mouth. "Holy Fuck girl," Merle stuttered bringing his hand up to his mouth and taking a step back.

Daryl darted between them extending his good arm. "Ya can settle this shit later," he barked.

Rebecca was breathing hard. "Nothing left to settle, we're even." She said in between breaths. "But, I still need to know who scarred up Carol."

Daryl dropped his arm and briefly examined the toes of his boots. Merle could easily see the torturous pain in his brother's features. Merle spoke so Daryl wouldn't have to, "Fella name of Ed. Were her husband. Worthless prick excuse for a human. He's dead."

"So you didn't put any of them there?" Rebecca clarified the point just to make sure. She had to make sure before she brought these men home.

"Naw, my brother couldn't," Merle began.

"Not you," Rebecca's voice was even, "him," she said pointing to Daryl. "I need you to tell me. Are you responsible for the scars on her?"

Daryl brought his eyes even, to meet Rebecca's gaze, "No," he said. The word was clear as a bell. Not mumbled or slang. For Daryl it was entire speech.

Rebecca saw something more behind Daryl's eyes in that moment. He was hurt, offended, worried, confused, and horrified but, there was something else. She had no doubt that he didn't put the cigarette burns on Carol's stomach and ass or the belt marks on her back. But, in the quivering tears that hovered just on the edge of his lids she could see another message; he, somehow, felt responsible for them being there. Rebecca took a deep breath. This was good a man.

"We better go," Rebecca mumbled as she headed back to the truck. "Got another twenty-five minutes before we get there."

Merle cut her a wide berth as they walked back to the truck and Rebecca smiled at him as she wrenched her driver's side door open.

"Ya, crazy girl," Merle said as he held the door open for Daryl to slide in before him.

"Awe," Rebecca cooed, "I'm sorry did I hurt ya?"

"Phbtt…." Merle made an exasperated noise as he slammed his own door and Rebecca turned over the engine. "Just won't know what to tell folk," he said irritably. "Got ma nose broke by ma brother's thick skull and my lip split by a woman."

"We can always just tell people you fell down some stairs," Rebecca offered.

Despite the situation, Daryl stifled a momentary chuckle.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Under the failing lights of the silo's depleted solar panels Marius hummed as he stitched. Bay was scampering around the lab and, when she brought her dolls down to watch the procedure earlier, Marius had tolerated her antics. Now, however, she was beginning to wear thin on his fragile nerves. Marion was trying to take the offending dolls away but, for everyone she put in a pile by the door, two more appeared on the ledge behind the gurney. Suddenly the lights went out.

Marius began to wail. It was a deeply panicked sound. He did not like the dark.

Marion found her way to the space just behind him. "Shhhh," she called, "I'm here Mare. It's the power switch over. There wasn't enough solar power to make it to the generator cycle. Remember, we talked about this?"

Marius' wailing did not cease.

"It just takes thirty seconds for the switch, remember?"

As if on cue, the light's cycled back up with the hum of the generators from level eleven. Marius abruptly snapped his mouth shut and went back to stitching muscle tissue back together.

Marion sighed and went to check the level on the gas tank keeping their patient out. It wasn't until she was almost to the little pressurized readout that she noticed something was wrong. Carol's eyes were open.

Marius' wail was replaced with Carol's scream. It was so loud that Marion almost missed the electronic buzzing of the proximity alarm. Either R4 was here or Rebecca was back with Daryl. She prayed to God it was the latter.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Leon rubbed his wounds absently as he rode enjoyed the uneventful bumpy ride in the back of his coach. His naked black witch was sleeping in a tight ball under a pile of blankets directly across from him. Recovering, from their play time the night before.

She was a good Queen. Remarkable. Her tolerance for pain was beyond anything Pet had offered and she never passed out on him.

Even more than that she knew things. She knew when things were going to happen, herds were going to come, and, when people would be vulnerable. The only thing she asked for this unyielding devotion, was the protection of the young children. He granted her this. No children under twelve years were utilized for entertainment.

In return she 'found' or 'cooked' things that kept his men high, wasted, and happy. She was a fucking magic wand. Morale was through the roof. Even with him having to kill the kiddie fuckers to keep them in line.

The carriage came to an abrupt and bumpy halt. Utilizing their corpses for horse power had been the witch's idea as well. It wasn't nearly as smooth a ride as horses but, the other dead didn't eat their own kind, and something about the smell kept the larger herds at bay. Leon cracked a window. Cain had been walking alongside his coach. "Hey," Leon barked, "why we stopping?"

Cain looked around and shrugged his shoulders, "Night soon, I suppose," he said nonchalantly.

"How far are we?" Leon demanded, irritated with the man's indifference to his original question.

Before Cain could respond Leon heard chains softly clinking from the seat opposite him. He returned his attention to his Black Witch. She moaned softly as she stretched, "We are south of Zebulon, on 19."

Cain gave a curt nod, shown up by the Witch again.

Leon groaned, he was immensely turned on a consistently surprised, by this woman who had volunteered servitude. So turned on. Abruptly he slapped her. She did not respond but, met his gaze with dead, empty eyes.

Leon looked back towards Cain. "Tie off my herd but, I don't want to be bothered until dinner." Leon slammed the small window shut.

Outside Cain heard chains rustling followed by the Witch's muted screams. He shuddered. Two and a half years ago, when he signed on for this, it had been fun. He got a ton of ass and some of the woman even liked it, he thought. But, now, it was all screams and blood. They went from camp to camp, taking women and children and turning the men. There was so much blood. Cain didn't know at what point it had become too much.

There was a high pitched screech from the King's; Leon's coach. Cain knew that noise, Leon was using a knife, again. The blades were extra sharp for his Witch, nothing but the best.

Cain shook his head, trying to dislodge the mental image. 'She's a woman, she's a nigger, she deserves it,' he mentally chanted to himself. Trying, desperately, to shake the feeling that this whole thing, the caravan, the whores, the trading, had gone so wrong. "She deserves it," Cain said out loud, to no one in particular. Even to Cain, it sounded like a lie.

******WHEW! I know that was a WHOLE LOT of FILLER BUT, I had to get some people from 'A' to 'B' and set the stage for the next 'influx' of drama...Hope you are all still enjoying and AGAIN THANK YOU SO MUCH for sticking this out with me! This has been a supreme honor and an absolute BLAST. You guys rock! As always, Cheers and Happy Writing!******


	18. The Homecoming

********AUTHOR'S NOTE AND DISCLAIMER****** I MAKE NO MONEY OFF THIS AND I, OBVIOUSLY, DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE WALKING DEAD CHARACTERS. THANK YOU TO ALL MY LOYAL READERS FOR STICKING WITH ME. UNFORTUNATLY THESE CHAPTERS ARE GOING TO COME A LITTLE MORE SPARSELY FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS AS MY HUSBAND HAS JUST HAD BACK SURGERY SO I'LL BE BUSY DOING WIFELY THINGS TO TRY AND KEEP HIM SEDENTARY AND COMFORTABLE. :) BUT, I DO HAVE TWO MORE CHAPTERS IN THE WINGS THAT SHOULD BE OUT NEXT WEEK!**

**LETS ALL GO SEE DARYL GET REUNITED WITH CAROL. I THINK IT'S TIME, DON'T YOU?**

Daryl heard her, outside.

He couldn't tell where the noise was coming from but, he could hear her. She was screaming. It was muffled by tens of thousands of pounds of dirt, sand, and soil but, there was no mistaking the pitch and tone; it was Carol. Daryl's heartbeat jumped twenty points in less than a second, the sound of roaring blood flooded his ears, his teeth began to grind, and the hairs on his forearms stood on end.

Rebecca didn't miss the change in the hunter's demeanor as he leapt to his feet in the middle of the bench seat.

"What the Hell, boy?" Merle rasped, shifting in his seat to try and follow Daryl's movements.

Daryl did not respond. Instead, with his good arm, he quickly flipped the latch on the roof hatch of the truck and hopped slightly to wedge his upper body through the small opening.

Rebecca brought the truck to an abrupt halt in front of the silo entrance as Daryl pulled himself through the roof hatch and slid down the windshield landing on his feet just infront of the bumper.

"Jesus Christ," Rebecca breathed.

"Damnit Little Brother," Merle yelled, slamming his door. "You tryin' to get yourself kilt?"

"Where's the goddamn door?" Daryl yelled looking around, his eyes wild.

Rebecca walked past Daryl's primed form to an apparent divit in the ground. She took two hands and buried them in the soil before grabbing ahold of something with both palms. Merle watched in wonder as Rebecca pulled a camo tarp, that had been covered in leaves and sticks, aside to reveal a recessed heavy metal looking door. "If you're the last one out, for a while," she explained, "we try to keep it covered. Prevents people from gettin' nosey."

"What's that?" Merle asked, motioning to what looked like half a tree house up a nearby trunk.

"That," said Rebecca, fiddling with a complicated looking set of locks, "is Abel's crow's nest." Rebecca humphed and turned a large door handle when she head the telltale clink of the locks clicking into their correct position. "The radio monitoring for the collars works better from up there. He does all his plotting, vector projection, and other 'stuff' from up there."

When Rebecca wrenched open the door she heard the thin wail of Carol and finally understood Daryl's sudden onset of angst. The noise died in the air as the door came all the way open and Daryl brushed past her.

"Where is she?" It was a demand, more than a question and Rebecca was slightly taken back by the abruptness.

"On Nine. But," Rebecca yelled as Daryl rushed past her to the stairwell. "You can't go in there!"

"The fuck he can't darlin'," Merle drawled as they did their best to keep up with Daryl's rapidly disappearing form. "Ya can hit me again but, I don't think yer keepin' him away from his woman. That there is just a fact of life."

They didn't catch up with Daryl until the fourth floor where they could hear him bellowing "MOVE GODDAMN IT. MOVE WOMAN."

"Shit," Rebecca breathed. The only other 'woman' he could be yelling at was Marion. And, that reaction was not going to fly with her brothers. If the boys hadn't found him by now they would soon.

Rebecca and Merle rounded the corner to find Marion blocking the stairway. Her face was flushed with anger and her tiny fists were bawled, so tightly they were turning blue, up at her sides. Merle got infront of Daryl and Rebecca went to stand before her sister.

"Take a breath boy," Merle said. "We're guests here. They're helpin."

Daryl shifted angrily on the balls of his feet.

Rebecca said nothing. She only extended her arm, taking her sister's hand in a silent show of solidarity. In her own mind she was evaluating weaknesses. Always on edge, evaluating. If she had to, she thought, she could take Daryl down. He was injured. But, that would leave her sister with Merle on her own. God, for the first time since Rebecca had met the brothers she was nervous. Really nervous.

Merle seemed convinced that the situation had been appropriately de-escalated. He turned to face Marion. "Darlin'," he began, "I think what ma' brother was tryin' to convey was a need to see his woman. Little gal," he said, holding up his right hand to the space just parallel and under his shoulder, "bought this high. Silver hair. Looks kinda like a pixie. Name a' Carol." Merle gave a well practiced, forced smile.

Marion exhaled a shaky breath. "We had a power interuption. She awoke for less than a minute. She shouldn't have felt very much pain. We've got the arm nerves blocked but," Marion paused licking her lips, "I think she got scared."

"You should be done by now," Rebecca breathed. Marius hadt started work over twenty four hours ago.

Marion re-directed her attention to Rebecca, "We had to re-open the lower forearm. Bug skipped over on us. We retreated the area and he chased it up a vein but, had to go deep in between the radius and the ulna."

Daryl's breathing would not regulate. Merle didn't miss it.

"Why can't he see her?" Merle asked, loud enough to get both women's attention.

Before Marion could answer Gabriel came into view with Bay on his side. "Who's yell," the question died on his lips when he saw the bother's there.

Merle reached back and placed his palm on Daryl's chest, to encourage him to keep his place. He could feel Daryl pushing against it. Daryl wanted this kid's blood. Rightfully so but, this was not the time.

Rebecca cleared her throat. "It's," her eyes darted back and forth, visually seeking out the appropriate word, "disturbing," she finished.

"World's disterbin'," Daryl rasped.

Marion sighed. They had been through this, as a family, over a dozen times. With husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers. It never got any easier. They all thought they could handle it. All of them. But, when they actually got in there, the went ballistic. "You can't react like you just did," Marion said quietly.

Rebecca shot her a warning look.

"Maybe," Marion said softly, "maybe its better to let him."

Rebecca shook her head adamantly.

"Look," Marion countered, a little defiance in her voice now, "you didn't just see the way he came around those stairs at me. He was ready to go through me."

Rebecca bit at her lower lip, in thought.

"If he can't handle it," Merle husked, "I'll get 'em outta there."

The two woman looked at Merle. Gabriel stepped off to one side on the staircase his eyes sizing up the bigger brother. "I can go get Michael up, he's sleepin'. If the biggin' can't bring him out the three of us can, if necessary."

"Prob'ly a good idea son," Daryl whispered. Merle's brows shot up, he was surprised at the lack of malice there.

Gabriel nodded and began to re-decended the stairs.

Merle mentally counted to three took a deep breath and led his baby brother down, into the unknown.

Daryl recognized the twin from the stairs when he stopped on the landing for level nine. This time he was without the little girl in his arms. Daryl had no idea where she had gone. His brother was standing next to him. A mirror image in every way except their scars. They had obviously been through the mill. The twin from the stairs stuck his hand out, officially, "name is Gabriel," he said, "don't believe we were formally introduced before. This one here," he said jerking his other thumb towards his brother, "is my brother Michael" Michael didn't move and regarded Daryl with a palpable level on contempt. Daryl returned the glare unwavering.

Daryl looked at the boy's hand but, did not take it. "Only way I'm shaking your hand boy, is after the ass beating I'm givin' you for what'cha did out there. You too," he said meeting Michael's eyes again. "But, not now. Later. For now, let's do this," he said grimly as he turned to face the door.

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders, non-commitaly, "That's fair," he said. "But, would you really have believed me, if I'd of told you the truth, that we could do this?"

It was Daryl's turn to offer a non-committal shrug. "Never know, now," he rasped.

Marion opened the door slowly as not to surprise her brother, "Mare," she called softly, "are you almost done stitching?"

Daryl heard a soft humming from deep in the interior of the room. It was a well lit space and Daryl could see that it was full of laboratory equipment. The counters supported racks of test tubes, two centrifuges, an array of microscopes, and stacks and stack of notebooks. Notebooks of every shape and size littered the table tops and cascaded onto the floor into piles. Marion saw Daryl's line of sight and softly murmured, "he has a system."

Daryl nodded.

"Mare," Marion called, "please, let me know you can hear me."

"Why do you have so many people?" Marius murmured towards the form on his gurney.

"This is Carol's husband," Marion called.

"Number forty-two," Marius replied.

"Number forty-two," Merle parrotted, confused, from his place in the entryway.

"Don't ask," Marion said quietly as she moved the group into the room.

Once she was satisfied that Marius was not going to loose his teneuous control on his affect, while finishing stiching, Marion let out an audiable sigh of relief. "Gentelman," Marion said, "this is my brother, Marius. He has been taking care of your wife." Marion stood to the side to let the others enter the lab. As they passed the entryway Daryl could see Carol for the first time. His heart stopped. Her entire side was wrapped in neat rows of stiches. Her porcilen skin was illuminated by a large spot light above the gurney. Daryl opened his mouth to scream, curse, ask questions, something...but, all he heard was a far away sounding sob.

When Daryl's knees hit the concrete floor, he realized the sob had come from him.

Daryl was only a few feet from the gurney when he collapsed. Merle was under him in a matter of seconds. "Come on boy, none of that. She doesn't neet to see you like that. When she wakes up."

Daryl rocked slightly in Merle's arms, still not able to properly form words.

"She's gonna be fine, boy. She's gonna be fine," Merle repeated the phrase over and over like a mantra to sooth the savage beast.

Marius turned slightly, "I believe," he murmured, "that forty two may not die." The matter of fact statement snapped Daryl out of his panic.

He scowled at Marius and, using Merle's body as leverage, pushed his way up from the floor. Slowly, like he might brake her, Daryl circled the gurney to the side oppisate from Marius and bent down. He, very carefully, ran his hand through Carol's silvery hair. She looked so peaceful, not like he envisioned her when he heard her prior screams. A mask was tightly fitted to her mouth and she was breathing softly, just like she was sleeping.

Daryl jumped slightly when he heard a metal clank.

Marius dropped the two hemostats he had been using for stiching on the metal try to his side. "I am done," he said matter of factly turning to his sister. "Check her drains every two hours and keep the bandages loose to account for swelling. I am going to sleep now." With that Marius walked past Gabriel, Michael, Merle, Rebecca, Marion, and Daryl and said sat on a small cot next to his desk. He then flopped back, closed his eyes, and, within a minute, began to snore softly. It wasn't until Daryl watched these actions that he noticed the little girl's small form asleep as well, under Marius' cot. She seemed harmless there, not at all like when she had shot him the day prior. She was curlled up, tightly, around a doll.

Merle gave a small humph, "Well, sweet dreams darlin'," he drawled.

"She'll be out for at least another two hours," Rebecca spoke calmly. "I can show you to where you two can bed down for the night if you'd like to follow me."

No one moved and all eyes were on Daryl, gageing his next reaction. Daryl moved slowly, stroking Carol's cheek and side as she slept. The scars Rebecca had asked him about were evident but, he only saw her. His angel. Breathing. Alive. Very carefully he removed the small gold band from his pinky and, crouching next to her prone form, slipped the simple, snipped, shiny circle back over her ring finger. He bent over her head and whispered so softly no one else in the room could hear. "Don't lose this," he husked before he kissing her gently on the cheek. Looking up, he met Rebecca's eyes. "I'll sleep here, floor's fine." It was a statement, not a request, and it was one that Rebecca did not question.


	19. The Quiet Week Before

**********AS ALWAYS, I OWN NOTHING. EXCEPT MY ORIGINAL CHARACTERS AND A VERY VERY OLD COMPUTER. KIRKLAND IS THE CREATOR OF ALL TWD CHARACTERS INCLUDED WITHIN, I MAKE NO MONEY OFF THEM WHATSOEVER. **********

*******BRIEF THANK YOU TO ALL MY FANTASTIC READERS! YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT, REVIEWS, AND 'READS' KEEP ME GOING! YOU GUYS ARE GREAT AND REALLY MAKE IT ALL WORTH IT!******

It was almost full week before Carol woke.

Marius and Marion fussed over her unconscious body constantly; checking stitches, removing drains, checking vitals, administering injections, but, still, she slept. And, as long as she slept, Daryl didn't move.

Marius became distraught the afternoon day five. Not over his patient. But, instead, over her guard.

"You must leave," Marius wailed for the third time. "I can not get work done with you here. You do not belong where I am."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading. 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,' Merle had recommended it. So far he liked it.

"I am going to make you leave now," Marius declared. This wasn't the first time he had tried to make Daryl leave in the last five days none of the previous six attempts had been successful either. Marius ran towards Daryl headlong and grabbed his good arm. He began to tug and pull Daryl by the arm, only succeeding in moving his chair a few inches.

Daryl gave the boy an annoyed look.

"You must leave," Marius said again.

Daryl ignored him. He looked over at Carol's unconscious body. They had taken her off the drugs that kept her under days ago. She was supposed to have woken up mere hours after her surgery was completed and yet, days later, she still slept.

Marion had warned him, in private, that there was a possibility she could have thrown a blood clot causing a partial aneurysm. Despite the blood that Merle had given, Daryl had not been able to give right away due to the drugs in his system Herschel had given him for the arrow to his shoulder, Carol could still have 'complications,' Marion had cautioned him. "There is a possibility," Marion had said softly, "that she may never wake."

Daryl refused to believe such nonsense.

What these children did not understand, about Carol, was the amount of rest she was due. Daryl convinced himself that Carol would wake. She just needed to sleep, for now. She was always taking care of everyone else and, this was her body's chance to rest. Daryl observed her soft features as she slept. They were to remove the drains later today. What had been angry seeping wounds were now dry and the stitches stuck out from her skin with a millimeter or two between their loops and her flesh, ample evidence that the swelling had gone down.

"Brother," Merle rasped from the doorway.

Daryl's head snapped up. He hadn't even noticed Merle coming into the lab. Marius was shifting back and forth anxiously behind Merle.

"Ya' need to come with me for a while," Merle directed.

Daryl grunted noncommittally.

"Come on ya' need to let this kid do his shit. Ya make him nervous," Merle returned.

Daryl grunted again. "Ain't stoppin' him," Daryl mumbled into the book. "I'm fine here."

"Fine, well then, ya' smell like ass."

Daryl's head shot back up from the book.

"I find it distractin' from five levels up," Merle said, a slight smile quirking his lips. "They got showers here, hot showers. An' ya can grab a workout at their gym. Shit 'ya not. They got a gym. Ya' ain't gone anywhere but, to the can in the last five days. Ya' fuckin' reak. So, ya' can come back down here when ya' done but, for now yer at least gonna go bathe. Even if I have ta' carry 'ya outta here."

Daryl let loose a heavy sigh and snapped the book shut. He slowly got up and kissed Carol on the cheek. As he walked past Marius he pointed his finger at the boy. "You come get me, if anything happens."

Marius took an abrupt step back. "No," he said, "I don't like you. I will get Rebecca."

Daryl sighed. He had had five days to get used the autistic's quirks but, he didn't think he would ever succeed.

Merle showed his brother to the large, group style, showers that were attached to the gym. He pointed to a large laundry basket in the corner, "If ya' put yer shit in there that girl Marion 'ill wash it." Merle walked over to a large wall of cubbies that had been made of old milk crates. Once there, he pulled off two pairs of pants and a couple of shirts. "Ain't got no under drawers for ya' but, these clothes should fit ya."

"How do you know about this?" Daryl asked a little taken back by how at ease his brother seemed with this place.

"While you been keeping vigil over mouse I've been makin' myself useful. Ain't been able to leave cause of that herd they were talkin' about last week when we got here but, there's still plenty to do. Ya' know me can't keep still most o' the time. And, been tryin' to keep ma' self outta trouble since they're looking after mouse and all."

Daryl nodded slightly, "The clothes?"

"Them twins showed me three days ago. When I took a shower," Merle over emphasized the 'I' to draw Daryl's attention to the fact that he had been considerate enough to bathe first. "Their clothes didn't fit me but, their da's did. Well kinda. A little big on me. He's a big fucker. Ya' meet him yet?"

Daryl shook his head. Abel Sokolov had been to the laboratory three times in the last five days. Each time he had silently regarded Daryl and then spoken softly to Marius. Daryl appreciated the fact that the big man didn't try to engage him in conversation. So technically he had seen him, just not met him.

"Anyway," Merle continued, seemingly oblivious to Daryl's lack of verbal response, "the twins thought their clothes would fit ya. Said, when I got ya out from the lab, that you could try and see."

Daryl nodded.

"Soap and shit's in the showers," Merle said turning to leave. "And, when yer done, come on up to four. That Mairon girle is quite a cook. With the herd around she's done nothin' but bake the last couple a days. Got all kinds of muffins and stuff. When's the last time you had cake baby brother?" Merle enticed on his way out the door, "I'm just sayin' it would be worth yer time to be sociable."

Daryl was alone for the first time in a week in the tiled room. He sighed, had Merle just told him to be sociable? Would wonders never cease?

Daryl shucked his shirt and slowly unwound the gauze from his shoulder. The previous week's wound was still angry and fresh looking. When he had approached Rebecca about which brother had the bow that shot him on that fateful day she had, reluctantly, admitted that it was 'Bay' the little girl. Daryl rubbed the scabbing hole the bolt had left and grimaced. He would have to remember and tell Maggie that she had been right about who pulled the trigger. He couldn't fault the girl too much. She had to feel that she had been protecting her brothers. After Daryl learned, from Gabriel, that the girl was deaf he couldn't begrudge her the difficulty she would have had following the tense conversation between her brothers and Daryl on that fateful day. All that being said Daryl still let Gabriel know that he and his brother were in for a fight when he was healed. Daryl understood but, he could not forgive having Carol ripped from him like that. A few exchanged slugs would drive the point home, he hoped.

Daryl experimentally pumped his injured arm up and down a few times letting his biceps curl and bunch in the mirror. He grimaced again. He was definitely weaker in that arm now. Maybe Merle's idea to hit the gym was good. Nearly a whole week of sitting on his ass, no hunting, no hard labor, and he was definitely in need of some kind of work. His body, in general, was feeling a bit stir crazy but, his activities had been limited to the inside of the silo. He couldn't go outside to work or hunt. Not yet.

Only a few slight hours after they had arrived, days ago, Abel's prediction of the oncoming herd R4 & Q had come. There had to be two or three thousand of them. Abel seemed convinced that they would be gone by the end of the week though. Rebecca had shared with him that they were moving faster than he had predicted. Daryl used the tile floor to wedge off his boots and he pulled off his socks. After a moment's thought he, experimentally, held the socks up a few inches from his face and sniffed. "Jesus," he exclaimed out loud. No wonder the boy couldn't 'work' with him in the same room. He was ripe. He quickly shucked his pants and underwear before dumping all his clothing into the laundry hamper Merle had indicated. After a moment of searching he found the appropriate milk crate with washrags and turned on the shower nozzle.

When Daryl stepped under the steamy spray he groaned out loud. The water was amazing. It had, literally, been years since he had enjoyed a hot shower. He leaned against the wall directly under the shower head and let the hot water cascade down his back. He concentrated on making his muscles relax; intermittently tensing them and releasing them trying to work out the knots accumulated from sleeping on the floor.

He found the soap and paid special attention to his underarms, face, and neck before moving the rag down to his groin. He closed his eyes and saw the same vision he had every time he had closed his eyes for the past six days. She was curled in his lap, back at the hospital, his hand was on her sex and her eyes were locked with his.

Daryl groaned as he dropped the rag to the floor. His hand curled around his hardening shaft. God, it had all been so difficult. Everything, since he had met her the entire world had worked against them. Existence had been difficult. Literally everything had been difficult, except…..for her. Loving her was the easiest thing he had ever done. Not the easiest thing to admit, mind you, but, loving her seemed to come to him with automatic ease of his own breath.

His hand stroked up and he gave a little squeeze and tug when he reached the tip.

Suddenly, the image of her that first day at the silo returned to him. Broken, bloody, stitched up like Frankenstein's monster. An edge of panic came to his memory as the image in his mind's eye flashed again to the day before that, in the field of wildflowers, next to the hospital. She had seemed so relieved when she saw him. So, thankful, that she hadn't even realized the still present danger. Daryl dropped his shrinking manhood.

He had failed her.

This was his fault.

Daryl turned off the water and stood, shivering, for a few minutes before bellowing and slamming his fist into the tiled wall. A smudge of blood was left behind from his now split knuckles. He stood there heaving, wet, and naked; willing his breath to come back under control. After a good ninety seconds he slowly dressed and went out to find Merle and, hopefully, something to eat.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Merle was laughing.

Merle never laughed but, he was laughing now. Rebecca and Bay were paying rapt attention to Marion who was hurriedly scribbling on a chalkboard that had been propped in the corner. They were trying to decipher Marion's poorly drawn depiction of a stripper. It was Merle's contribution to the pictionary game that had been put together by Rebecca and Marion.

Merle, Michael, and Gabriel, against Rebecca, Bay, and Marion. Each opposing team made a variety of items for the other team to try and draw. Merle had contributed stripper, cock, and donkey show. So far stripper was the only one they had drawn.

Marion had given him the most evil glare when she had drawn it out of the wooden bowl in the middle of the table.

"Hey," Merle said holding his hands out palms up, "you said 'anything.'"

"Ten seconds," Michael called.

Marion rolled her eyes and made the breasts on her stick figure larger.

"Boobs," Rebecca called.

Marion shook her head.

"Five seconds," Michael called.

Marion poked the chalk on the breasts again before shaking her own ass and twirling around in place.

'Dancing Boobs,' Bay signed with a quizzical look on her face.

"Time," Michael called.

Merle devolved into furious laughter and Marion crumpled up the slip of paper she had drawn and threw it at Merle. It bounced off his chest and landed in Gabriel's lap. Gabriel opened the slip of paper and glared at Merle, "Dude, those are my sisters! Try and keep it clean."

Merle grinned, "You didn't say there were rules."

Rebecca grabbed the slip from Gabriel and read it. "Jesus, Merle," she said as she crumpled it back up, "what if Bay had drawn this?" She asked as she playfully chucked the small wad of paper back in Merle's direction.

Suddenly the group grew quiet and Merle shifted in his seat to see Abel's hulking form come through the doorway.

"Father," Marion said softly, "can I get you something to eat?"

Abel nodded. "That would be nice. I think I smelled your peach muffins."

Marion grinned widely. "I made them just for you," she said beaming.

Abel turned to Merle, "Where's your brother?" he asked.

Merle shrugged, "Left him in the showers twenty minutes ago. He should be," Merle didn't finish as Daryl walked into the kitchen making his own presence known.

Abel turned to face Daryl. "It's good to see you up and about," he said. "I was just about to tell your brother that the herd should be through by tomorrow. It would be safe to go back to your prison then."

"I ain't leavin'," Daryl said a bit confused.

"Wouldn't expect you to," Abel returned. "I was going to ask one of the twins to go. But, I wanted to know from you two if there was something, some message, that you wanted me to send back."

Daryl nodded stiffly and looked toward Merle. This was a signal that Merle knew well. Daryl was uncomfortable, in general, with conversation and asking for things.

Merle cleared his throat, pulling the attention back towards him. "Tell 'em," Merle began, "tell 'em Carol's doing good. Tell 'em that Daryl's healing up and tell 'em that we're just waitin' till Carol gets stronger before comin' home."

"Do I tell them that she's still out?" Gabriel asked obviously uncomfortable at the idea that he or his brother would be asked to omit this pertinent detail.

"No," Daryl said softly.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and looked toward Abel for clarification.

"If you are going, Son," Abel said confirming the brother's assertion, "don't tell them that. Do as they ask."

Gabriel shook his head, "That ain't right."

"Don't matter," Daryl said gruffly. "She'll wake up. Ain't no reason to worry them till then. But," he amended, "take this." He tossed his dirty angel wing vest across the table into Gabriel's startled arms. "They'll know the only way you got that is from me. They'll trust you that way. Since they never me ya yet."

Gabriel nodded folding the vest in his lap. "I'll leave in the morning. Take a bike."

"How about some apple bread?" Marion's voice cut through the tension of the group as she attempted to bring a peaceful moment back to the room.

"Sounds nice, darlin'." Merle grinned widely. "I think everyone here'd like a big ol' piece." Merle patted his stomach appreciatively, "I don't think I've eatin' this good since I left Woodbury brother. You gotta try her bread. Shit is downright heavenly."

Daryl pulled out one of the chairs at the dining table and looked around at the gathered faces. Able had already sat down at the head of the table and, now, everyone in the silo was sitting around the rough hewn dining area. Everyone, with the exception of Marius who was, undoubtedly, down in his lab attending to Carol. Daryl released a sigh of tension that he had been holding for the last six days and briefly wondered if this is what it was like to have a real family.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Leon stood in the treeline and stared at the bustling prison. West Central prison, Georgia. That is what his what his Witch had told him and, there behind dual chain link fences, was a whole city. Basically, a whole city. As close as anywhere got nowadays.

McMannis shifted uncomfortably next to his boss. Cain was on the other side.

"King," McMannis said softly, "this area isn't secure. We should get back to the coaches."

Leon made a disapproving noise deep in his throat.

"Our King protects us," Cain offered. "He can sustain any injury and continue to keep us safe." It was dogmatic rhetoric, complete bullshit, but, Cain didn't want Leon going off and murdering either one of them in the forest. So close to so many corpses. It would draw attention.

"Tomorrow we will approach them," Leon whispered, an baleful smile playing across his lips. "Tomorrow we will send children to seek entry and then take their position. So many new toys inside. So many playthings."

Cain shivered. Disobedience would mean death. He was thankful, at least, that Leon would be placated until tomorrow. Maybe he would change his mind.

Leon abruptly turned and headed back towards their caravan's campsite less than three miles away. He had a special present in mind for his Witch. To thank her, for this gift.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Back at the silo Marius was humming as he worked. He carefully snipped the last of the thin black threads that held the last two drains in forty two's arm in place.

With practiced efficiency he removed the thin rubber material and blotted the oozing blood that came from the small holes the drains left.

He heard a soft moan and looked down. Number forty-two had opened her eyes. Soft blue eyes.

Marius crouched down next to the prone figure on his gurney. "Hello," he said brightly. "You did not die."

Carol's eyes fought to focus on the boy. She whispered only one word in response to his statement. "Daryl."

Six days after sustaining her bites Carol woke; human.

**ALRIGHT EVERYBODY READY FOR WHAT'S COMING NEXT?! 'THE TROJEN HORSE' SHOULD BE OUT LATER THIS WEEK! FOLLOWED QUICKLY BY 'THE PLEASURE IN THE PAIN' (METH HEAVY CHAPTER). WE'RE COMING UP ON THE BIG CLIMAX. GLAD YOU ARE ALL STICKING WITH ME! AS ALWAYS, CHEERS AND HAPPY WRITING!**

**P.S. - IF YOU WERE UNABLE TO READ 'THE NIGHTMARE MAN' OR 'THE PRICE OF FREEDOM,' DUE TO THE TRIGGER WARNINGS (WHICH I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND), HERE IS YOUR BRIEF EXPLANATION - LEON FITZ IS A SEXUAL SADIST THAT HELD MOST OF THE SILO CHILDREN CAPTIVE AND IS A SLAVE TRADER. HIS 'BLACK WITCH' DONETTA SOKOLOV, ABEL'S WIFE, WHO TRADED HERSELF FOR REBECCA'S FREEDOM. HOPEFULLY, THAT WILL GET EVERYONE UP TO DATE WITH THE 'BAD GUYS,' BEFORE I UTILIZE THEM MORE! :)**


	20. The Bait and Switch

*******AUTHOR'S NOTE AND WARNING TIME*****I OWN NOTHING - NOT ANY OF TWD CHARACTERS THAT IS - THIS LITTLE WORLD THOUGH AND THE WAY IT'S SHAPING UP, I AM AFRAID, ARE ALL MINE! ;) I DON'T MAKE ANY MONEY OFF THIS BUT, I LOVE DOING IT, SO HERE WE GO AGAIN.*******

*******TRIGGER WARNING****** LEON IS IN THIS CHAPTER*****NOTHING OVERTLY GRAPHIC IS DONE WITHIN BUT, IT IS HEAVILY IMPLIED BY CAPTIVES IN CHAINS, A SLAP OR TWO, NAKED FOLK, AND A BRIEF PINCH***** I ENCOURAGE ALL TO TRY AND READ IT AS HE IS MY BAD GUY SO - HE'S ACTING ACCORDINGLY BUT, I UNDERSTAND IF ANYONE NEEDS TO SKIP THIS SECTION. *** I WILL HIGHLIGHT HIS SECTION WITH BOLD STARS*******

Glen couldn't keep his hands off his wife. It didn't matter that they were up in the watch tower. It didn't matter that they only had about another hour or so before shift change. It didn't matter that he was supposed to be keeping watch while, she took her turn to sleep. She was wearing those damn pink thong underwear that she had snuck home during their last run. All that seemed to matter in that moment was that slight scrap of pale fabric. He slowly ran his hand over the curve of her ass as she slept and slid his forefinger under the hot pink strap that was just above the line of her khaki pants.

Maggie groaned slightly and shifted in her sleep. "I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye out while I took a nap," she moaned, shifting under the torn sleeping bag they shared.

Glen smirked behind her and placed a soft kiss on her neck. "Almost time for shift change," he husked into her ear. His hand shifted forward under the front of her khakis and found her wanting.

She groaned and pushed back into him. "Mr. Rhee," Maggie said smirking, "don't you know I'm not that kind of girl?"

Glen chuckled and pushed against her ass with his crotch bringing his wife flush to his body as he worked her.

Suddenly, and much to Glen's dismay, Maggie sat bolt upright. "Did you hear that?" She whispered with a touch of fear in her voice.

"No, but, I can feel it," Glen groaned a bit irritated.

Maggie removed Glen's hand from her pants and pushed herself into a standing position before looking out into the field to the right. "Shit," she exclaimed.

Glen scrambled to his feet directly behind her and followed her line of sight out into the field. "What the fuck," he breathed.

There, just fifty or so yards outside of the front gate, were six old fashioned looking coaches. Each was being pulled by twenty or so walkers. The walkers around the gates had started to dissipate as the coaches approached.

Glen grabbed the rifle from the corner where it had been propped and fired three warning shots into the air.

Rick had already been up for an hour, tending to his potato plants, when he heard the shots. He shucked his gardening gloves and broke into a run for the front gate, his hand on his gun. Tyreese and two of the other men from Woodbury, Bob and Malcolm, met him on his sprint for the chain link.

All three men had seen Hell in the past couple of years; lost loved ones, family, but, there was something about the scene in front of them that stopped all three men in their tracks. Tyreese threw a silent prayer up to Heaven that the children weren't up and around yet.

Glen was rapidly descending from the watch tower as coaches came to a stop outside the front gate. A younger clean cut white man, in his early thirties, emerged from one of the coaches with his hands raised above his head, a wide smile on his face. "Hello Friends," he called.

Rick removed his revolver from the holster on his hip and didn't move. The young man moved forward slowly and kept his hands over his head. "Name is Cain," he said through wide white teeth. "We didn't know anyone was stayin' here. Just drove in to be neighborly. We're traders. Wanted to see if there is anything you folks needed."

Tyreese shifted uncomfortable and Rick's face was a solid sheet of marble.

"We're good," Glen called, hoping futilely that the skin crawling caravan pulled by walkers would turn around a go away based on those two little words.

Cain chuckled and looked down at the ground shaking his head. "That's what everyone says," he countered forcing the smile back on his lips, "but, you haven't even seen what we've got to trade." Cain pursed his lips and let out a long whistle. The coach second from the back opened and a woman, no more than twenty, emerged. She was led, by a long chain attached to a dog collar, by a man dressed head to toe in military fatigues. The man had an M-16 slung across his back and, Rick easily recognized, a Glock on his hip. The woman, overall, didn't look that bad. A few bruises were scattered across her upper body but, she was not thin and she did not appear to have bitten. Of course, all that was obvious due to her lack of clothing. Rick held his composure trying his hardest not to betray the contempt blossoming deep in his soul.

Cain took the chain from the man in fatigues. "I'm not armed, but, my companion is," Cain said brightly gesturing to the man in fatigues. "I would like to approach and show you what outstanding merchandise we have to offer."

"Not interested," Rick said clearly. Tyresse growled from his position behind Rick and Glenn could clearly hear the sound of a bolt action 30 30 being loaded from above him. Maggie was not happy.

"Now, don't be like that," Cain chided approaching the gate, despite Rick's declaration.

Rick turned just enough to get Bob's attention, "put the word out. Evacuate as many as possible from the rear. Now." Bob ran towards the cell blocks.

Cain was only four feet or so before Rick drew his revolver and leveled at the man. "That's far enough," he said.

Cain pursed his lips in mock disdain. "Maybe she's not your type," he said softly. "Too bad." A momentary terrified look crossed the naked woman's face before Cain withdrew a small knife that was concealed in his waistband and stabbed the woman in the throat. The woman's hands went to her throat as she tried to scream, but, nothing came out except bubbling red blood.

"No," Rick screamed.

Maggie shrieked from her post in the watchtower.

Glen covered his mouth and Tyreese gave a muted roar. Malcolm charged the gate and the man in fatigues pulled his M-16 forward with practiced ease aiming it at Malcolm.

Cain shrugged his shoulders. "We told her if we couldn't unload her at the next stop it wasn't prudent to keep her around. But," he said with a dramatic flair, "if you didn't like her I think I have something else you may find interesting." The bleeding woman convulsed at Cain's feet; blood quickly pooling around her head. Cain whistled again and another coach opened.

"Wait, Stop," Rick said holding his gun even. "I will kill you."

Cain shrugged again, "And, then he'll kill you," he said gesturing to the man in fatigues. "In fact, I think I can guarantee you I'm more disposable to my boss then you are to these people." He gave another broad smile.

Rick felt a hand grasp his shoulder, it was Tyreese, his hand pointing off towards the coach with the opened door. A series of young children, no older than thirteen were being pulled out into the open. All were chained to each other. There were five total. One boy and four girls. "Jesus," Glen choked. A tall, thin, white man in his late sixties was leading the chained children. Rick realized in horror what was most disconcerting. All of it was horrifying. They were young, naked, and shoeless; chained, thin, and bruised; but, what was the most disconcerting was the fact that they were all silent.

Rick began to tremble. Tyreese and Malcolm stood mute. Glen was looking away and rubbing his eyes apparently still trying to make sense of the woman's murder they had just witnessed. Rick charged toward the gate.

"Ahh," Cain said smiling, "maybe we've found something a little more up your alley."

Rick gave his best disgusted grimace, keeping his gun leveled.

The woman Cain had stabbed only minutes before finally stopped twitching at Cain's feet. Her breath shuddered out of her body escaping into the still Georgia air.

Rick heard cars starting behind him. Bob had succeeded in warning the cell blocks. Evacuations were starting. A small catch of Woodbury residents had begun to murmur behind Tyreese and Rick could hear a myriad of guns cocking behind him. The prison was not taking kindly to this behavior.

A soft smile played on Cain's lips and the whisper he gave was so quiet Rick could barely hear him.

"What?" Rick spat.

"Just kill me," Cain whispered; so quietly Rick was the only one who could have heard.

Rick was genuinely confused.

"No, time," Cain murmured. "I've done things. Just kill me. I know you want to."

Rick was baffled.

"He'll rape your women. He'll trade your children for slaves. He'll let them be raped. He'll do things to them. To you. To us. Kill me. Please." Cain's whispers carried such a wavering plea Rick lowered his gun.

"I don't understand," Rick murmured.

Three shots sounded from the rear of the prison. A warning from the alternate exit.

"What the fuck?" Rick exclaimed.

"Too late now," Cain replied, a touch regret edging his voice.

Maggie screamed. "There's more in the back."

Cars were driving frantically through the prison yards, trying to navigate tables, chairs, and the mob that had come to assist Rick.

The man in fatigues fired, taking down Malcolm.

There was another shot. Maggie, Rick thought, as the man in fatigues lost his head to a bullet from up high.

Cain started backing up. "Lost your chance, cowboy." He said balefully. "Lost your chance."

Rick started to fire at Cain but, wavered, his law enforcement training kicking in as he knew the man was unarmed.

The children in chains started to run for the forest and fell over their shackles, repeatedly, as the thin man that had held them dove back into his coach before re-emerging with a 9mm street sweeper. "Fuck," Rick screamed. "Hit the deck." He ran back towards the crowd of Woodbury residents. Waiving his arms for them to run or get down. Their gathered shotguns and deer rifles were no match for semi-automatic weapons. Even with the small armory of firearms the prison guards had left behind their ammunition was limited. It was simple math.

He heard the street sweeper start its telltale rat-a-tat-tat and felt something like a hot fire poker rip through his left calf. It didn't hurt, not really, it was too fast.

When Rick hit the ground he saw Glen laying not six feet from him. Glen's eyes were closed but, he thought he saw breathing. Rick recognized the steady bap-bap of Maggie's 30X30 and, he silently prayed to God Carl was in one of the three cars he saw plow through the far fence. Rick felt Tyreese's big hand grab the back of his shirt and felt himself being drug away from the fence as at the shots continued. More screaming. More dull thuds. Suddenly Tyreese dropped him and Rick hit the ground again. Tyreese's big frame collapsed on top of him and Rick struggled under the larger man's form trying, to stand. Another man, Rick didn't recognize, toed Tyreese's form off of Rick and Rick shot him, point blank range. It was instinct. Rick was temporarily blinded by the blowback of blood and tissue that coated his face. He felt something heavy hit him between the shoulder blades and his world went black.

Leon Fitz regarded the mayhem with all the reverence of a an elderly Catholic meeting the Pope. This was his sacrament. This terror, this fear, was his life force. He led his Witch, by her long silver chain, through the bedlam to the inside of the front gate where he stooped next to the man McMannis had knocked out and retrieved keys to let Cain inside. He paused to appreciate the soft tinkling his Witch's chains made against the metal of the keys he retrieved from the unconscious leader of this group. It offered a unique undertone to the screaming and soft gurgling of the dying around him. Music. So many thought this world was so lost but, Leon thought, in this Apocalypse he had found a way to make music. "Beautiful," he whispered smiling softly.

McMannis operated the lever to open the unlocked gates.

Leon softly stroked his Witch's face as he moved them to the side to allow Cain to direct the coaches inside. "Your idea to enter through the lower tunnels was exquisite, my Queen. Even rebuilt that back wall was a joke."

The Witch cringed, just slightly but, it was there.

Leon feigned a slight pout. "Don't be like that Love. I loosed the five children you wanted."

The Witch's voice was barely audible above the chaotic din that continued around them. "You didn't unchain them," she whispered.

Leon pursed his lips, apparently deep in thought. "I tell you what," he said matter of factly, "pick another one. Any other," he said valiantly gesturing towards the crowd of the people that McMannis, and six of his men, was gathering into a huddled mass in a now trampled garden. "I'll let one more go. Just for you."

The Witch hesitated. She knew this game, it was one she had played before. He would make her pay, later. She absently rubbed her ring and pinky on her left hand. They had healed badly from the last time he had snapped them, as punishment for her 'picking' in a similar situation. She looked over to the huddled crowd and her eyes lit on a young blond woman, a girl really, she took a slight intake of breath when she recognized a squirming bundle the girl was doing her best to conceal behind a large military surplus jacket. The girl had an infant, or maybe a young toddler. The Witch took a deeply unsteady breath. Such a sweet looking blonde would be a favorite among the men. And, not in a good way. "The blonde," she whispered, pointing. "She's too skinny to have much fun with anyway. Save you the trouble," the Witch said offering a faltering smile.

Leon pushed out his lower lip, "Now, don't lie to me precious," he said menacingly. "Tell me the truth. Why do you want her to go."

"She won't last," the Witch gasped as Leon grasped her left nipple and twisted cruelly.

Leon nodded sagely. He snagged Cain as the man walked past next to one of the entering coaches. "Grab me that one," he said pointing towards the blonde.

Cain obliged. When he got to the crowd and put his hand the blonde's shoulder Leon watched, with a great deal of amusement, as an elderly man in suspenders launched himself at Cain and was knocked to the ground, easily, by McMannis as Cain pulled the blonde away from the pack. The blonde wrenched and screamed in Cain's grasp until, finally, Cain looped his hand through her hair and half drug her to Leon.

Leon slapped the girl.

She was suddenly silent. In shock. "Its your lucky day beautiful," he said sardonically. "You won the lottery."

The girl regarded Leon and his Witch with wide, watery, light blue eyes.

"Run." Leon whispered.

The girl stayed frozen to her spot like her feet had grown roots and, for a brief second, the Witch was afraid that the girl wasn't going to go. But, then, so quietly that anyone who wasn't a mother would have missed it, the Witch and the blonde heard the soft high keen of a toddler about to cry. Before the sound could be recognized by Cain or Leon, the girl bolted for the open front gate. Smiling Leon let her go. The Witch released the breath she had been holding.

Leon turned to his ebony skinned Queen with a small quirk of irritation darkening his features. "You," he said pointedly, "picked a combo pack."

She tensed waiting for his next statement.

"You will pay for that deceit," Leon hissed.

The Witch pursed her lips and clenched her teeth together. The upcoming night would be torture. In every sense of the word. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the blonde hit the woods. She consoled herself with one final thought before she shut her mind down to the upcoming horror. For the child to have a chance, tonight would be worth every second.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Gabriel had brought the S-10 this morning. It probably wasn't the most 'efficient' choice he'd ever made in his life but, because Rebecca and Michael were making yet another hunting run, he was going on this trip alone. Alone meant he got to listen to his guilty pleasure; speed metal. And, since the dirt bikes didn't have a CD player, he had taken the S-10. It got decent gas mileage, better than Rebecca's truck anyway.

Gabriel wasn't altogether okay with lying to the prison colony that he'd never met. So, when the news came to the family, from Marius to Rebecca and then to their gathered group, that Carol had finally woken, he had been relieved that he could deliver a truthful message.

Carol was awake and recovering. Doing quite well actually. Gabriel had popped in the lab early this morning in lieu of his daily run on the track with Bay. The woman had been propped up on a small mountain of pillows and had been softly stroking Daryl's head and face. The hardened hunter that had promised to beat his ass less than a week prior, had looked positively placid under the grey haired pixie's dulcet touch.

Carol had smiled at him. It was a welcoming thing, her smile, and Gabriel could easily see why the two overgrown rednecks had been so protective over her.

Marion had shoved a white broadcloth shirt on him as he went to the truck; reminding him that Rebecca had told the prison colony they'd come in white. To be 'recognized.'

Gabriel was off in his own world, doing eighty on Allen Rd near the old quarter horse ranch when he slammed on the brakes sending the CDs he had all over the bench seat flying into the dash and all over the floor.

The girl was no more than eighteen, blonde, pale as the driven snow, and her eyes were wide as dinner plates as she stood rooted to the middle of the road fixated on Gabriel's oncoming truck.

Gabriel clutched the steering wheel with both hands veering the truck to a skidding stop just a few scant feet from the girl.

Gabriel flew from the driver's side of the truck. Screaming. "What the FUCK? I could have killed you! Are you bit? What the FUCK?" To Gabriel's astonishment the girl didn't run or scream back. Instead she sank to her knees and began to sob uncontrollably as she clutched at her midsection. "Fuck me," Gabriel mumbled, calming slightly. "Are you hurt? I didn't think anyone would be out here." Gabriel reached out to touch her and turn her towards him. The girl recoiled, her eyes wide with fear. "I ain't gonna hurt ya," Gabriel said, his voice softening. He inched towards her, crouching down at her level. "I'm sorry I yelled," he murmured. Gabriel froze. For the first time he heard a different sound from the girl, instead of sobs. A soft whining cry came from her midsection. "Fuck me," Gabriel whispered. "I ain't gonna hurt ya hun," he repeated. "You gotta a babe?"

The girls sobs quieted for just a moment and she turned to him and nodded.

"It hurt?" Gabriel was almost afraid to ask but, he had to know.

The girl shook her head slowly. Her sobs had quieted some and he could hear the young toddlers squalls now, muffled against her torso. He also began to hear the moans from the treeline.

"It ain't safe for you out here," Gabriel said slowly. "I know some people nearby. Well I don't really know them. My sister met them once," he began to try to explain. "We need to get ya off the road. They're in a prison near here. Supposed to be nice folk. It should be safe there."

The blonde began to shake and sob freshly.

"Did they do this to ya?" Gabriel asked confused by her reaction.

The girl shook harder and the toddler only squalled louder as the girl's grip on it loosened. Gabriel could see soft strawberry blonde hair peeking out from the top of the blonde's jacket where the babe was concealed. Gabriel could also see the first shuffling corpses beginning to maneuver from the trees.

"We gotta go, you can tell me on the way there but, we gotta go." Gabriel, as slowly as the situation allowed, reached out and grasped the blond on the shoulder. When she didn't recoil from his touch he helped her to her feet.

A thin tremulous voice wavered from her form as they stood. "We can't go there," she croaked, meeting his eyes through her tears.

Gabriel shuffled her, as quickly as possible towards the pickup. When he had finally joined her inside the dead were mere yards from his front bumper. He shifted the truck down into drive and eased through the small herd until he reached forty again, towards the prison. "Why can't we go there darlin'?" He asked as gently as possible.

The blonde shifted in her seat. Silent tears still coating her face. "Men showed up, this morning," her voice quivered softly. "They had people in chains."

Gabriel's hands began to tremor softly against his grip on the wheel.

"They tried to get Rick to buy some woman. Said they wanted to 'trade.'"

Gabriel pulled the truck to the side of the road and put it in park. He didn't trust himself to drive in that moment.

"A woman," the girl continued. "A black woman, picked me out, to be let go. I don't think they knew I had Judy." The blonde girl stroked the quieting babe's soft reddish tinted hair. "My Dad and Sister are still back there."

Gabriel took a deep breath, silently deciding how much to tell her. In the silent five seconds that followed that thought he decided that less was more in her current state. He would evaluate the situation and report to Abel. He only prayed that the black woman who had turned her loose was the same angel that had met him in the woods years ago. Gabriel took a deep and steadying breath.

"My name is Gabriel," Gabriel eyes were watering despite his best efforts. "What's your name, hun?"

The blonde turned in her seat. "Beth," she said. "Beth Greene and this is Judy, Judith Grimes."

Gabriel recognized the name, if nothing else for the ridiculous stories the redneck had told about child. "So this is 'Little Asskicker?'" Gabriel asked doing his best to smile.

A soft smile graced Beth's features. "You know Daryl? And, Merle? Are they okay? Is Carol okay?" She choked out. All Gabriel could do was nod. "Oh God, thank God," she softly began to rock Judith in her arms as she repeated the phrase over and over again.

Gabriel decided to leave Beth locked in the truck and jog the two and a half miles toward the prison from their current position. He took a calculated risk and left her with the extra set of keys telling her firmly that, if he hadn't returned by sundown, follow the map he left to the silo. He explained that she wouldn't see an entrance but, that if if she honked five times in a row waited thirty seconds and then repeated this five honk pattern, eventually, someone would come.

Beth nodded and clutched his hands insisting on a prayer before he left. He acquiesced; what could it hurt?

When the prison finally came into view for Gabriel he wasn't overcome with emotion the way he had feared. It was a deep coldness, instead, that he felt in his soul. He watched the coaches, silently committing to memory as much tactical information that he could discern. He never saw Donetta. He hoped, against some unfathomable odds, that the black woman Beth had spoken of was indeed the mother he had never gotten a chance to know. But, he couldn't confirm it.

By the time Gabriel made it back to the truck there was a third passenger huddled on the bench seat next to Beth. A small girl, about thirteen.

Beth breathed a visible sigh of relief when Gabriel climbed back into the cab.

The younger girl was sound asleep. Gabriel knew well that the kind of trauma they had been through would cause some to sleep deeper than they ever had before. Gabriel raised a silent eyebrow toward Beth.

'Alice,' Beth mouthed.

"From your prison?" Gabriel asked quietly.

Beth nodded stroking the girl's head silently while simultaneously stroking the young babe she held tightly with the other arm. "Have you got food, where you are? I mean food she can eat," she whispered nodding down toward the smaller of the two girls.

Gabriel pursed his lips and nodded turning the truck over. Alice clung a little tighter to Beth in her sleep as the vehicle began to rumble down the road. "I've got a sister who will know just what she needs," he whispered thinking fondly of Marion. "Let's get you three back. What do you say?"

Beth nodded.

The rest of the trip was silent. When they got north of Atlanta the sun was setting and Gabriel looked over to see Beth had drifted off to sleep with the babe and girl still clutched tightly to her body. He pushed the speedometer a little higher. He had to get this information to his family.

**WELL, HUBBY IS HEALING UP SO I HOPE TO CRANK THESE OUT ON A MORE REGULAR SCHEDULE AGAIN. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE KIND REVIEWS - ITSI3, ATHLETE GIRL, VICKIH, AND ALL THE OTHERS. I'M SURE I'M FORGETTING SEVERAL OF YOU GUYS, MY MEMORY IS TERRIBLE THIS MORNING! BUT, THANK YOU NONE THE LESS. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO WRITE BACK TO EVERYBODY BUT, I'VE JUST NOT HAD THE TIME OF LATE. PLEASE, IN THAT REGARD, FORGIVE MY RUDENESS AND KNOW THAT YOUR KIND WORDS HAVE NOT GONE UNNOTICED! THEY POSITIVELY MAKE MY DAY! AS ALWAYS - CHEERS AND HAPPY WRITING.**

**P.S.- YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED I CHANGED THE TITLE OF THIS CHAPTER. AFTER I GOT THE WHOLE SEIGE DOWN ON PAPER IT DID SEEM LIKE LESS OF A 'TROJEN HORSE' AND MORE OF A 'BAIT AND SWITCH.' THE PLEASURE IN THE PAIN IS STILL NEXT. IT WILL BE A TAD SMUTTY. I THINK OUR BOYS DESERVE SOME 'STRESS RELIEF' DON'T YOU? THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH AN AWFUL LOT! :)**


	21. The Pleasure and The Pain (Part 1)

**********AUTHOR'S NOTE AND DISCLAIMER*******I OWN NOTHING, REALLY, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING EXCEPT THE CREATIONS OF MY OWN IMAGINATION AND THEIR MANY AND VARIED DEBAUCHERIES. BUT, ALAS, I MAKE NO MONEY OFF OF THEM! ALL TWD CHARACTERS CONTAINED WITHIN ARE THE PROPRIETARY PROPERTY OF KIRKLAND AND HIS MINIONS! - ALSO- TEENY TINY SOAPBOX - KIRKLAND - YOU CAN BURN IN A FIREY LAKE OF MY CONTEMPT FOR YOUR ALLOWING MY SWEET LEADING LADY TO BE LEFT TO HER OWN DEVICES. YOU DIRTY SOB! THAT IS ALL! :)**

Carol heard the thin wail of Judith Grimes before Daryl.

It wasn't like Daryl to miss such a thing but, Daryl was sleeping for the first time in a week. Really sleeping, for the first time in a week. He had caught quick cat naps on the floor beside Carol's gurney. Frequently he had woken to Bay's questioning eyes mere inches from his face. Her tiny cupid's bow mouth pursed in a silent question. So, with the changing environment, his constant miniature observer, and Carol to worry about, he had never really relaxed enough to reach REM sleep here, in the silo.

But, now, that Carol was awake Daryl was snoring softly. He had climbed on the end of her gurney this morning. Claiming that he had to dump some rocks out of his boot but, Carol knew, he wanted to be up there with her. When he was seated soundly she had clenched her teeth in response to the pain and effort it took to hold her arms out for him. He had started to jump down then, thinking he had inadvertently hurt her but, Carol had clarified. "I can't seem to get comfortable without you near me. Can you hold me while I try to fall asleep?" It was a ploy and they both knew it but, Daryl had curled into her lap. Making himself impossibly smaller he had wound around her body bringing his head to rest in her lap with his arms lightly circling her waist. And, then, as if visited by the Sandman himself, Daryl Dixon had fallen asleep.

Carol smiled to herself as she lightly stroked longer stray hairs away from Daryl's face. Thin grey hairs. He had just a few. Enough to betray the age his boyish good looks hid. Just enough to add the years of a man to the heart of a wolf. Carol smirked. Cringing and then hissing softly she flexed her injured arm, bringing her fingers to her mouth she kissed the tips and was about to lightly place this kiss on his cheek when she heard a baby cry.

Carol was almost certain she was hallucinating.

It took the second cry for her to be certain she was not imagining the sound. The realization caused her to jump, slightly, in place. Daryl came flying off the gurney with all the ferocity of an electrocuted cat. Landing squarely on the balls of his feet he pivoted in place and sought out her gaze. "You okay," he said breathlessly.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling, "but, I think we have company. I heard a baby." Carol paused choosing her words carefully. "I heard Judy."

Daryl cocked his head; listening.

Judy's faint wail again drifted down nine stories to the lab.

Daryl met Carol's widening eyes. She was, suddenly, realizing that there was no reason for Judy to be here. No reason to take that risk, unless...

"Go," she whispered adimately. Daryl paused, seeking confirmation. "Go," Carol said more emphatically. "Tell Rick I want to see Jude. He probably just brought her to see me. Knew it would cheer me up." Carol gave a weak smile and Daryl nodded his head in affirmation. Just a slight head dip and he was gone, out the door, to the stairway.

Marius approached the gurney with a watch and his arm extended. "I want to take your pulse. For your records."

The boy was an odd duck but, Carol was beginning to understand his off hand comments and abrupt ways. She smiled widely at him, "My heart, son, is at your disposal." When Marius grasped Carol's arm Daryl returned, suddenly, to the door frame opposite the bed. Carol cocked an eyebrow, "Forget something," she asked.

A brief smile quirked Daryl's lips. "Didn't forget," he drawled, "came back, didn't I?" Daryl darted around Marius and briefly let lips drop to Carols. Her soft mouth moaned into his as their breaths momentarily mingled. Daryl came away smiling.

"Bring me that baby," Carol said softly. "It would do me some good to see her." Daryl nodded and, once again, left the room.

Marius furrowed his brow and stared at Carol's wrist. "Your pulse is elevated," he said. "You must attempt to relax."

Carol didn't hear him. She was already busy imagining every worst case scenario she could fathom. She could have never fathomed what was to come.

Merle had been making his way through a tattered copy of "Mice and Men" while he finished off a peach muffin. When he heard Judith's cry there was no hesitation on his part, no pain to work through as Carol had, no sleep to wake from as Daryl had, only a momentary realization that where Judith was there would be Beth. And, there was no reason for Beth to be here. Something was wrong. It took him a fraction of a second to come to this realization. Merle dropped his book but, had the good sense to shove the rest of his muffin in his mouth as he darted from the kitchen. Marion called after him, "Merle, did you hear something?"

Merle didn't bother to answer as he took the stairs two at a time towards level one.

Gabriel had a time unloading Beth. The girl had insisted that they move slowly, so they wouldn't wake Alice or Judy but, it didn't seem to matter. The girl Alice woke almost as soon as he stopped the truck and, instantly, began to cry softly despite Beth's attempts to sooth her. Gabriel simply shook his head. "She can't process it yet," Gabriel said softly. "Just let her cry it out. Don't try to stop her. It will only last longer. She'll sleep more once we're inside." Alice clung to Beth's side as Gabriel opened the hatch leading into the silo. Beth kept rocking Judy as she tried to angle all three of them inside the narrow hatch at once so as not to let go of either of her charges. To do so she had to bring Alice flush to her front where the young girl's quiet sobs woke Daryl's Little Asskicker. Judith's thin wail reverberated through the first floor as Gabriel reached behind the girls and pulled the hatch shut; rotating a series of locking mechanisms until Beth heard a sequence of clicks.

'Safe.' It had been months since Beth had thought that word but, she did more than think it now, she felt it. She had just watched this man put six feet of reinforced steel between her young charges and the horrors of the outside world. Beth shifted arms with Judith and bounced lightly trying her best to get the young toddler to quiet. She had enough time to turn around and grasp Alice's hand again before she saw him.

Merle rounded the stairs breathing a little hard. He was wearing a clean wife beater, a pair of hunter green cargo pants, and an overshirt that Beth didn't recognize. They weren't his clothes. She knew as much from the months of volunteering for laundry duty at the prison.

"Mr. Merle?" Alice's voice wavered.

Merle didn't speak. He couldn't take his focus of Beth. She was wearing his coat. A military surplus jacket he had grabbed with Daryl on a run months ago, to prepare for the coming Georgia winter. Her eyes were rimmed in red and her quivering lips looked raw and chapped. Blood tinted the corners of her mouth where it was obvious she had been chewing her bottom lip. Merle wanted to reach out and touch it, sooth it, do something to ease her blatant suffering.

Daryl stopped short, coming up the stairs behind Merle. The entire floor was silent save for Alice's light sniffles and Judith's continuing wail. Daryl didn't miss his brother's eye contact with Beth. Daryl slid past Merle and towards Gabriel. "What happened? Why is She? Where is?," Daryl shook his head and tried to focus; finish a sentence. "Why are they here?" He finally spoke slowly and articulately.

Beth creased her brow slowly and Merle crossed the room in three easy strides. He pulled Beth into his arms and she breathed out, relaxing into his solid chest. Her eyes closed. "Safe," she breathed the word out loud. Beth felt something moving at her right side and she opened her eyes to see that Daryl was taking Judith out of her arms. Beth released the child into Daryl's careful grasp and, with shaking hands, she returned her palms to Merle's chest, fisting them in his undershirt. Only then did she realize Merle was holding her tightly with his right stump but, his left hand, was alternately softly stroking her hair and holding the back of her head. His mouth was moving against the top of her head and she could feel his breath in her hair. "Don't let me go," Beth whispered into Merle's chest. Merle's only response was to hold Beth tighter.

Alice was holding onto Daryl's right leg as he bounced Judith slightly, calming her cries. Daryl focused his gaze back on Gabriel. "Why are they here, boy? Tell me what happened."

Gabriel took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "We need to get my family. All my family together at once. It's the Traders. They're back."

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They would have the family 'conference' in the lab so Marius and Carol could be involved.

Marion arrived shortly after Gabriel had finished that sentence. 'The Traders.' She covered her mouth. Only a tiny gasp escaped.

Bay sat on the first step, observing the discourse she could not hear. Her soft chocolate eyes locked with the eyes of an older girl across the room. Alice loosed Daryl's pant leg and moved towards Bay. The tiny girl had the mannerisms of her mother. Only miniaturized. It fascinated Alice as she moved to sit next to her on the step.

"I'm Alice," she softly croaked over her ceasing tears. "What's your name?"

The girl on the steps fumbled with her hands; appearing to pick imaginary dirt out of her fingernails.

Alice took a shot in the dark. It had been years since her mother had died. Years since she had a chance to practice. Her father wouldn't let her, once her mother was gone, it was too painful for him to see her do it but, Alice thought she remembered a little.

'I'm Alice,' Alice signed carefully. 'What's your name?'

If it was possible for eyes to 'smile' Bay's did in that moment. She wrung her hands only a moment longer before taking a steadying breath, 'B-a-y.' She signed the letters of her name from the alphabet, the way Gabriel had taught her.

Alice smiled at Bay. She looked back to the group. Ms. Beth was being held by Mr. Merle and Mr. Daryl was talking to Mr. Gabriel. Everybody seemed very upset. She didn't really understand what was happening but, she knew, that in times like these people very rarely took the time to explain what exactly was happening to children. It would be better if she made herself scarce. Alice took a deep breath, 'Do you have a room?' Alice asked Bay.

Bay nodded emphatically and began to run down the stairs. When she noticed that Alice had not, immediately, followed she bounded back up and grabbed Alice's hand.

Daryl and Gabriel left next, with Judith and Marion. Daryl was almost certain that Rebecca and Michael had gotten back from their hunt, empty handed, an hour or two before. But, he couldn't be certain. He had been, sleeping. He threw a look over his shoulder towards his older brother and Beth who seemed to be in their own world.

"If they're back, they'll be with Abel in his planning room. Especially if they came back empty handed. They'll be looking at where to try and hunt next." Gabriel embraced his sister as he spoke and Marion seemed to finally be calming down from the news of the Traders. "You know if they're back?" He asked Marion as he pulled back a little to look into her face. Marion shook her head.

"Were you seen?" She asked the question quietly, afraid of the answer.

A smile quirked Gabriel's mouth. "No," he said drooling, "I wasn't seen. This one," he gestured toward Beth, "found me in the road. Weren't for her, I would have walked right into their camp at the prison."

"They take the whole prison?" Merle's voice was muffled by Beth's hair. He seemed intent on smelling her as if it would prove her existence to be a reality in his mind.

Gabriel nodded quickly and Daryl cringed. "We need to get Rebecca, Michael, and Able," he reinforced. "The one thing you people don't realize, is that we've been waiting for this for two and a half years."

Daryl cocked an eyebrow and Merle lifted his attention from Beth's head only slightly.

"We need to get the others." Gabriel said again as he, Daryl, Marion, and little Judith began to descend the stairs.

"I gotta talk wit Carol," Daryl grunted.

Marion nodded. "We'll meet you down there." She softly replied. "I'll grab some chopped peaches from the kitchen for the little bit."

Daryl grunted in affirmation as Gabriel split off the group into Able's room and, subsequently Marion disappeared into the kitchen. 'Bittersweet,' he thought as he descended. He got to bring the child that brought joy to the entire prison to see the love of his life. It would make her happy. But, then, he would have to tell her why Judith Grimes was in his arms, instead of the arms of her father. Daryl sighed as he stood outside the door to the lab, gathering his thoughts. When he crossed the threshold he saw Carol's face light up like the noon day sun at the sight of Little Asskicker before she met his eyes, saw darkness there, and, just like that, the light vanished from her features.

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Beth Greene and Merle Dixon stood alone on level one.

She had not spoken, or moved, since Daryl had taken Judy from her arms. Merle continued to softly stroke her head and breath into her hair, holding her close.

Merle broke the silence. "Your Da?" It was a question that hung in the air like the smell of rancid meat.

Beth didn't want to acknowledge it but, she knew she had to. "I don't know." She whispered into his chest. "I don't know about any of them. I never saw Maggie. Glen was down but, I think he was breathing."

"Rick?" Merle tensed for the response that he knew would destroy his brother.

Beth softly shook in his arms. "I don't know." She repeated the phrase with a hint of apology to her voice. "He got shot. In the leg. I don't know anything else."

Merle nodded and gently pulled away from her. "You was real smart gettin' the little one out," he said cupping the side of her face and tilting her chin up to face him.

Beth tried to smile but, she couldn't. "Its your coat," she whispered. "The pockets inside were big enough that I could shove stuff in. When Bob came through, telling us to evacuate, I held her inside."

Merle nodded.

Beth continued. "I tried to keep her quiet but, she was so scared."

Merle nodded again pulling her back to his chest and resuming his stroking of her head.

"They had people in chains. Naked people, in chains. Children." Beth croaked around the world 'children' and broke down into sobs once more clutching at Merle's chest for some semblance of stability.

Merle's heart was breaking. He would do anything in this moment to take the pain away from her. Anything. It was strange, the feeling he had when he had first seen her only ten minutes before. He had realized, in that moment, that she was the Ying to his Yang. The positive that balanced his negative. The passiveness to his aggression. The balance that had kept his internal scales from collapsing for months. Every passing look in the prison, every half smile in the yard, and that damn peck on the cheek before he left had been leading to this moment. Merle took a deep, shuddering, breath and squeezed her tightly one more time before stepping back and using his left hand to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.

"You're safe now," he whispered as he brought his face to hers. He stopped mere millimeters from her lips, giving her an out; to turn away, to slap him, to run.

Instead, Beth Green tilted forward, just slightly, on the balls of her feet. Tiptoes.

Merle had intended to keep his arms at his sides when, and if, the kiss actually happened. He didn't want her to feel trapped. But, as their chapped lips touched for the first time he couldn't help himself. A sound somewhere between a groan and a growl escaped his throat and he was overcome by the strongest sense of possessiveness he had ever felt. He banded his right stump behind her waist and pulled her flush to his body as he began to back them into a wall, effectively pinning Beth between his solid body and the concrete brick that surrounded them. Merle's only passing thought was 'mine' and, it occurred to him, he had never felt this before. Merle could taste the traces of blood on her chapped lips and this only served to spur his need further.

Beth was breathless. This man; this big, solid, protective, man had stolen it. And, when she felt her back hit the concrete wall behind her, she was certain she would never breath again. She was also certain she didn't care. When she felt his tongue flick out to trace her lips she opened her mouth hesitantly inviting him in. Although, she was certain, he need no invitation as he plundered her mouth with all the certainty and confidence of a lover far more more experienced than she. Beth heard herself squeak as she felt her abdominal muscles tense under the force of his body pressing her into the wall.

Merle seemed to notice the noise and took the opportunity to grind his pelvis against hers pushing his erection firmly against her abdomen. Beth broke the kiss as her eyes widened and her abdominal muscles clenched again. Merle leaned his forehead against hers giving her a chance to catch her breath.

"You okay?" He breathed in between his own gasps.

Beth nodded.

Merle groaned. The pressure and friction of his erection grinding against the front of his pants was blissful. But, for all intensive purposes, they were in a common room of a silo full of children. Beth stroked his face seeking his gaze. "You?" she whispered.

Merle nodded before dipping his head for one more kiss and then backing away. "We need to be part of that meeting," he said softly.

Beth's eyelids drooped. She nodded again.

Merle knew that look. She thought she had done something wrong. "Hey," he said softly, "this ain't done yet." He took her right hand in his left and gently maneuvered it to cup the front of his pants around his hardened cock.

Beth gasped and Merle gave her a wolfish smile.

Beth's tiny hand gripped and loosened around the erection in Merle's pants. She was feeling the length and width, size. Merle watched the features of her face contort with awe and interest. He backed away from her. "We ain't done darlin' and you didn't do nothing wrong but, we gotta be part of this meetin'." Beth nodded silently but, before Merle could move too far away she grasped his left hand and pulled it to the juncture of her thighs. Merle gasped, it was hot there, and, he could feel, the first evidence of moisture on the outside of the denim. She would be soaked inside. He pulled his hand away as if it had been burned. He took a deep growling breath and kissed her one more time, with everything he had. This time when he pulled away, he didn't stop for conversation. Instead, he grasped her hand firmly and pulled her toward the stairs down to a family conference that was, already, well underway.

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Abel had been crying.

Openly.

As Merle and Beth entered the lab the first thing they heard was Gabriel plaintively repeating, "I'm sorry, I didn't see her."

Rebecca was pacing.

Marius was humming.

Marion appeared to be helping Carol shovel some sort of diced peach mix into Judith's gurgling mouth and Daryl was hovering by Michael. Both men shifting back and forth from foot to foot.

"There were nine coaches, total, that I could see," Gabriel continued. "Maybe sixty or so guys with him. I couldn't get a good count."

Abel nodded rubbing his eyes.

"They had a bunch of your people," Gabriel said, shifting his attention to Daryl, "gathered in one of the yards. I don't know what they were doing with them there."

"I've got a good idea," Rebecca mumbled.

Michael crossed the room at attempted to pull her close to him but, she shrugged his touch away.

"I don't see what the fuck we're waiting for," Michael suddenly blurted. "We've been training for this for years."

Abel didn't suppose Michael would see what the fuck they were waiting for. Michael was twenty. Abel was pushing sixty. He had already lost his wife to these people. His children too? Hadn't he already lost enough?

Merle cleared his throat and met his brother's eyes as he spoke. "All you folks have done for us; we can't ask you to come back with us but," Merle paused looking toward Beth, "our family is still in that prison."

Daryl nodded.

"So," Merle continued, "come mornin' if they're ain't no herds around Daryl and I 'ill be goin' back. If Rick's still alive he'll rally them that are still inside. We gotta try."

"You won't be alone," Michael said firmly. "You've got me." Gabriel was nodding from his place next to Abel. Michael noticed his brother's body language and added, "And, my Brother."

"You're not going off to kill that sadistic fuck without me," Rebecca said quietly. Michael reached toward her and, this time, she didn't shy away from his touch. Michael brought her towards him and she laid her head on his shoulder. "Besides," she added, "can't trust you boys alone."

Daryl snorted.

Marion brushed her hands together ridding the palms of some imaginary detritus. The motion made a loud clap clapping sound that drew the groups attention. "We'll," she said matter of factly, "you'll need my aim."

Daryl, Carol, Merle, and Beth were lost but, the statement seemed to make sense to the rest of the gathered group.

Abel cleared his throat.

"We'll leave at first light," he said standing. "Can't go tonight; the dead will be too active."

The gathered group nodded.

"Rebecca, get with Daryl and Merle. I want a full layout of the prison. If there's an in or an out I want to know it. Michael, you and your brother get weapons prepped. Marion, your fifty cal needs cleaned. I'll start reloading ammo for it right away," Abel's voice faltered slightly. "We kill him," he said moving to leave. "If we can get her back," Abel took a shaky breath, "if we can find D, if she's even alive, we'll bring her out. Other than that; if they're with him they die. All of them. Anyone in chains, leave them until we have the scene secured. We can loose prisoners after. If there is an after. Everyone clear?"

Everyone nodded, except for Carol. "I guess I'm stuck here," she said softly.

"Marius will stay with you," Abel offered. "I think its best if we leave Bay and the girls here as well. No place for children where we're going. If we're not back within forty-eight hours we're not coming back."

Carol cringed slightly, the magnitude of the situation suddenly weighing on her soul. Daryl moved towards her and took the hand of her injured arm in his. "I'm coming back," he said quietly. Carol squeezed his hand in silent hope.

"Beth is stayin' too," Merle said loudly.

"Actually," Abel, prepared for a fight even as he spoke, "I was hoping that she would stay with Marion. Once she gets set up she'll need a spotter. She's a hell of a sniper but, she needs someone to keep her in ammo and intel. We'll keep her out of the thick of it."

Merle started to argue but, Beth squeezed his hand firmly. "Our family," she said, emphasizing the 'our,' "is still in there. You said so yourself. I couldn't stay here when Daddy and Maggie are still there."

Merle grunted disapprovingly but, knew she was right. "Well then," he said gruffly, "you'll be wanting to help Cookie over there clean that fifty cal. Crash course in spottin' might be a good life lesson." Beth nodded and moved to join Marion as she left the room toward the armory.

Merle moved to leave the room behind Beth but, Daryl caught his forearm and pulled him aside. "What the hell is going on between you and Beth," he whispered gruffly.

Merle wrenched his arm out of Daryl's grasp and growled. "I dunno," he said roughly. "Its new to me too."

"Rick 'ill kill ya," Daryl growled.

Merle offered a sardonic smile. "Ain't you been payin' attention little brother? We're about to march into Hell for Officer Friendly and your merry band of do gooders. He can't kill me if we die tryin' to save his ass."

"What if we don't die?" Daryl whispered.

Merle shrugged one shoulder a wistful look in his eye. "Then I guess Rick 'ill kill me. Either way, I'm dyin'. And, if I'm dyin' tomorrow I'm gonna hold that angel in my arms the night before." Merle pushed past his brother and left the lab.

**AND NOW ON TO SEXINESS - PART 2 IS ALMOST ENTIRELY LEON'S EXPLOITS AT THE PRISON FOLLOWED BY SMUT AT THE SILO. I WANTED TO SEPARATE THE TWO SECTIONS JUST IN CASE IT WASN'T YOUR THING YOU COULD SKIP IT! (JUST A SIDE NOTE I ASKED MY HUSBAND WHERE WOULD BE THE BEST PLACE TO IMPUT MY SMUTTINESS. IT WAS ENTIRELY HIS IDEA TO HAVE THE BOYS 'GET BUSY' THE NIGHT BEFORE A BIG BATTLE. IN HIS OPINION THEY WOULD WANT TO 'FEEL ALIVE' THE NIGHT BEFORE IMPENDING DEATH. SINCE I'VE NEVER BEEN TO WAR AND HE HAS...I DEFERRED TO HIS EXPERTISE.) HOPE TO HAVE YOUR SMUTTINESS UP BY TONIGHT/TOMORROW MORNING AT THE LATEST. **

**- AS ALWAYS CHEERS AND HAPPY WRITING! :) **


	22. The Pleasure and The Pain (Part 2)

********AUTHOR'S NOTE*******WARNING********I AM SO SLEEPY! AS ALWAYS, I OWN NOTHING AND MAKE NO MONEY OFF THESE CHARACTERS IN ANY WAY. ALSO, BE PREPARED, THIS IS SMUT! THE FIRST SECTION IS ENTIRELY SET IN THE PRISON TAKEN OVER BY LEON AND HIS MERRY BAND OF CRAZIES - THE SECOND 2/3s IS CARYOL SMUT FOLLOWED CLOSELY BY A SLIGHTLY LONGER METH SMUT. **

**ENJOY AND AS MY HUSBAND HAS WARNED - SMOKE 'EM IF YA GOT 'EM - I, MYSELF, HAVE ENJOYED A RATHER TALL GLASS OF SOCO SO FORGIVE THE SPELLING ERRORS PLEASE!**

Rick had never heard sounds like those that echoed through D block that night.

Never.

In his life.

Rick did his best to pull his upper body upward by bunching the muscles in his back. He had to pull himself up, to breath. He was hanging, suspended, by one of Daryl's hunting gambrels, in the small social area off D block. Various men gathered around the tables and their accompanying steel benches. Some had women with them, in chains. Some had men with them, in chains. Rick had been hung there, to watch. There were even two women, dressed entirely in black leather, they each had a man in chains. One was slowly lighting matches and throwing them, one at a time onto her charge laughing each time an ember made contact with his skin and he cringed.

Rick heard Tyreese moan next to him. Much like Tyreese's own situation Rick had been lashed to the gambrel by his wrists. The group of surrounding hostiles had then used the attached pulley system to hoist them only a few inches or so off the floor. Half a foot at most but, it was enough. After hanging for only a few minutes Rick began to feel the inspiration of his breath shallow and, fifteen or so minutes after that he was fighting to pull air in at all. So he developed a system. Count to a hundred slowly and then lift, with everything he had, and suck air while the pressure was off his chest. But, that had to have been hours ago and, now, his arms were screaming. His back was a mass of lactic acid and, despite his best effort, tears threatened the corners of his eyes.

Tyreese was having a much harder time of it. Sometime between him pulling Rick away from the fence and the time he had witnessed the big man being drug into the cell block, Tyreese's shoulder had been dislocated. He was strongly favoring the right arm trying to keep as much weight as possible off his left shoulder which appeared bent at a wrong angle. His breath was coming in a high intermittent wheeze and Rick kept talking to him, trying like Hell to get his attention.

The man who identified himself as The King came into the common area. The surrounding crowd grew silent and everyone, even the woman with the matches, dropped their gaze to the floor.

Tyreese gasped. It was the wrong moment to do so.

Leon let out a sharp bark of a laugh, his eyes lighting on the larger man. Such a large, strapping, negro man. The boys from the KKK had begged Leon for Tyreese but, Leon summarily denied them. He could tell that the leader of the prison group seemed to rely on the overgrown man. Reluctantly but, necessarily, for security, enforcement, and protection. Leon reasoned that, if he was able to make an example of breaking the strong one, along with their leader, that the other men would fall into line easier. Not that intended to keep the other men around but, in larger groups like this, it would take a few days to separate the wheat from the chaff and the less resistance they got from the men, the better.

Leon approached Tyreese's hanging form and placed a cold clammy hand on his naked hip. With an evil grin he pushed back causing Tyreese to spin in place suspended by his bindings.

The scream Tyreese loosed would haunt Rick's nightmares for months to come.

"You stop it," Rick bellowed, "Stop! Me, you want me, not him. You STOP!" Rick thrashed his feet back and forth futilely trying to use his legs to stop Tyreeses' spinning.

Leon snorted, apparently amused. "I have you," he said evenly, "and I have him. What I want may change but," he walked toward Rick resting his palm flat to Rick's chest, "for right now I want to play with him."

Rick did the one thing he could think of; he spit. The droplet of saliva struck Leon's left cheek. Leon closed his eyes momentarily before wiping the offending fluid away with the pointer finger of his right hand. He took a deep breath.

"Vesta," Leon whispered the name and Rick watched as the woman in black leather who had been playing with the matches rose. Leon motioned to his side and she hurriedly obliged and came to sink to her knees next to him. He stroked her head the way a hunter would stroke his favorite hound.

"Vesta, teach this man the meaning of pain," Leon whispered.

"Yes, my King," Vesta replied. "Shall I begin here or take him away?"

Leon gave his disciple a baleful smile, "Oh, here, my child. I want to watch you work. You see," he said returning his attention to Rick, "I find that men are often the easiest to break. Women," he turned his attention to his Witch, in chains crouched near Tyreese's hanging form, "Women, can take all kinds of pain and just keep coming back for more. Men," he walked towards Tyreese and his gaze darkened, "men are something different." Leon ran his hands over Tyreese's bare chest and watched as the dark skin quivered under his touch. "Men, you just need time and a little bit of pressure and time and," Leon spun Tyreese again and paused his speech to listen to the wail, "eventually they just give up."

Rick closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. "Ty, listen to me man you've just got to," Rick's voice was cut short as a match lit in his chest hair and stuck there burning his skin before going out.

"Shut up or I'll make you eat them," Vesta hissed.

"Fuck you," Rick spat.

Vesta smiled. "Was that an invitation," she cooed.

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Elsewhere in block C Maggie was trying her best not to cry. Trying very very hard.

Maggie slowed her breathing. She had fought them, the whole way. Taking down four men with with confirmed kill shots from her tower; she had only abandoned her post when she had seen Glen go down. She was trying to get him to his feet but, he wouldn't wake. Tyreeses had screamed at her, to run, said that Glen would be fine but, to get out now. Michonne had taken her arm and tried to pull her towards a rip in the chain link that the cars had left behind.

She hadn't been fast enough. Their clothes had been taken, first. They had all been forced to give them up while standing in a huddled mass outside. Her father had whispered Beth had made it out but, she never noticed. Her eyes had been focused on Glen sedentary form in the yard the entire time.

Michonne had taken a vicious beating and, eventually, a graze across her temple had downed the swordswoman.

Maggie had made her move then, tackling Michones attacker to the ground while he was preoccupied with delivering kick after kick to her ribs.

Maggie had then, in turn, received a beating of her own. Closed fists. It wasn't like anything else she'd ever experienced. She'd been in fights before but, this wasn't a fight, this was a beating. She now knew the difference.

Sometime between when Maggie launched herself at Michonne's attacker and when she regained consciousness in the dirt Glen's form had moved. He was alive. He had to be. This was the reason she had to live, now.

God, Maggie was cold. She shivered despite herself and Michonne pulled the thin wool blanket away from her body and held up a corner for Maggie. Maggie gave a weak smile and joined Michonne on the floor of the cell scooting closer to the woman as Michonne let the edge drop over her legs. "Thanks," she whispered. True to form Michone remained silent.

Neither woman had been raped. Not yet. Maggie couldn't speak for the others in the prison. She and Michonne had been branded troublesome, after the incident in the yard and Maggie had carried Michonne's unconscious body up to a C Block cell.

The man from the front gate, Cain had shut them in; "You shouldn't have pissed them off," he murmured from his spot at the door.

Michonne was regaining her balance then and she smiled at Cain, "I'm gonna kill you boy," she said evenly.

Cain flipped her the bird and walked away muttering, 'women,' under his breath.

But, that had been hours ago.

Since then the women had only the screams of the prison to fill the silence between them. Maggie was quickly losing her battle with the impending sobs.

Michonne pulled the farmer's daughter closer to her side and tilted her head up to meet her eyes. "If they come for you girl, you fight. You hear me?"

Maggie nodded, large tears slipping loose their bonds and cascading down her cheeks.

"Don't ever stop fightin' girl," Michonne sighed pulling the blanket and girl tighter to side. "Don't make it easy. Don't you make it easy for them. Fight."

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Daryl rubbed his neck muscles absently with his hand as he descended the stairs back to the lab. Two hours with Rebecca and Merle arguing about tactical advantages had finally been cut short when Abel came up to level one and retrieved the plans to the prison that Rebecca had sketched.

"You all need sleep," Abel had said simply.

Rebecca scoffed, "like that's gonna happen."

"Try," Abel said sternly, "we leave in five hours. First light."

Daryl and Merle had exchanged brief nods before separating with Rebecca at the first level of the armory. Merle off to locate Beth and Rebecca off to locate Michael.

Daryl continued down the stairs to the lab.

His thoughts as he dropped the final few steps to the ninth floor lab were jumbled.

The idea that the six of them were going to infiltrate a prison occupied by a sadistic cult of 'sixty or so' men should have scared him but, it didn't. The idea that the only people he had come to call family may be dead already should have frightened him, but, it didn't. What scared Daryl Dixon in that moment was not the likelihood of impending death but, the idea that it might make a liar out of him. He had promised Carol that he would come back and Daryl Dixon was not a liar. His father had been a liar, even Merle, but, not him. That was the one thing that set him apart, in his eyes.

Daryl crossed the threshold into the lab and a momentary reflex of panic gripped his gut. Carol's gurney was empty.

It took less than a second for him to locate her. She was standing next to Marius while the boy used a socket wrench to close a bolt tightly in a bizarre apparatus that circled her left arm. It appeared to be a cage like structure. The thin metal bars that made up the skeleton of the thing extended the length of Carol's entire left arm. Leather straps were held tightly in place by a series of buckles that kept the skeleton bound to her arm. Marius was tinkering with the joint of the thing at Carol's elbow apparently trying to tighten the entire apparatus. As Daryl walked closer he could now see that the top of the thing was held in place by larger metal buckles and leather straps that circled Carol's shoulders and tied in the armpit of the opposing arm making it impossible for the brace to slide off. It was easy to locate the tie in spot at the opposing shoulder as Carol was topless. She was holding the sheet from the gurney to cover herself but, Daryl could easily make out the swell of her breasts just visible from the side. Despite himself his cock jumped in his pants.

"What the Hell woman?" Daryl couldn't help himself. She was supposed to be in bed, resting!

Carol gave a beautific smile, proudly gesturing to her newly braced arm. "Isn't this just the darndest thing?" She said, obviously excited. "Evidently it was Rebecca's, originally, but, she didn't use it for very long. Mare here says that a few tweaks and I can use it. With the amount of tissue they removed I've got to be careful rebuilding my strenght but, this should help keep me from over straining any muscles."

"You won't strain any muscles if ya stay in bed like ya are supposed to," Daryl growled through a grimace.

Marius stood back, abruptly, admiring his work. "That is good," he said succinctly, "now flex your arm." Carol obliged and Marius smiled. "Good, good," Marius muttered turning to leave the lab.

"Where are you going?" Daryl growled at Marius as he followed the boy's movements.

"My sister," said Marius clearly, "suggests that you may perish tomorrow and, therefore, should be allowed privacy to engage in sexual congress."

Carol stifled a laugh and Daryl grunted disapprovingly as the boy left the room, closing the rarely used door behind him.

Daryl heard Carol giggle again from behind him. It was musical sound, like notes tinkeling through crystal. When he turned to admonish her for being out of bed and so damn eager to heal too fast his thoughts died on his tongue.

She had dropped that damn sheet.

She was nude underneath save a thin pair of white cotton underwear that were adorned with pale pink flowers. Despite the scars, the stitches, and that damn metal brace she was the most amazing creature he had ever laid eyes on. Her skin seemed to glow with the pale opalescent of a freshwater pearl. Her muscles were toned, her stomach taught and quivering, and that thatch of pale brown hair between her thighs, that was plainly visible despite the white cotton panties, seemed to call his name.

Daryl's cock was now very much awake. He took a steadying breath and crossed the room. Dropping to his knees in front of her he carefully gathered the discarded sheet. He intended to stand then. To wrap the sheet around her and carry her back to the gurney. To insist she got some more rest but, the smell overcame him. On his knees he was eye level with that thatch of hair under those panties. Daryl opened his mouth and leaned forward resting his forehead on her pelvic bone. Carol gave a little squeak and let her good hand rest on the top of his head.

Daryl groaned, "You deserve better than this. It shouldn't be like this. Not our first time. I could do better by you." He took a deep breath simultaneously through his nose and mouth. Inhaling her scent. Tasting it without yet touching her.

Carol stroked his hair. "Daryl Dixon I think I get a say in what I want. And, I want you. There is no better, not for me. I can't think of anything better for our first time or any time after that. As long as I'm with you."

Daryl winced. The words hurt. They were all too much. He still couldn't believe that such a woman would lay herself naked, in so many ways, before him. He felt her hand stroking the crown of his head. It was rhythmic; soothing. Daryl closed his eyes concentrating on nothing but, her scent. He moved his mouth forward the scant inch or to make contact with cotton. Carol sighed and he felt her push into him. Daryl growled, his panic, his doubt taking flight with that sigh. His stolen insecurities dissipating into the climate controlled air of the lab with her sigh.

Daryl mouthed the cotton, his tongue flicking out to stroke against her hidden slit. His hands, now firm and confident, palmed her outer thighs and he slowly ran them up to her hips looping his pointer fingers, on each side, into the elastic of the panties and pulling down.

He felt her thighs tense, then quiver. Daryl froze and looked up her body from his place on the floor. Her eyes were closed. "Woman," he husked.

She took a sharp inhalation and squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

"Woman," he said more firmly.

Carol opened her eyes slowly and looked down. Her mouth formed a silent 'o' as she took in the sight of him kneeled there, before her, in reverence.

Holding her gaze Daryl asked, "This okay?"

Carol nodded.

Daryl resumed sliding the thin scrap of cloth down her legs and watched as her body tensed again at the touch. Her eyes had re-closed. Daryl stopped again. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to continue. His cock throbbed painfully in his pants and he could feel himself salivate at the opportunity to bury his mouth to her core. But, he remained still until she opened her eyes, again. Her gaze met his a question hiding in her eyes.

Daryl quirked a smile. "You watch Woman," he growled. "Don't ya look away. I want ya here, with me."

Carol's breathing increased slightly and she nodded down at him over her heaving breasts.

With a swift, singular, move Daryl pulled the offending scrap of fabric the rest of the way off her legs and, without further pretense, buried his mouth against her mound. He groaned at the taste darting his tongue out to separate her folds.

Carol couldn't believe the lover in front of her. He attacked her with the ferocity of an animal but, had a restraint that could possibly kill her before this night was over. When he nosed her throbbing clit up and latched onto it with his lips she screamed.

Daryl heard her high keen above him when he found her throbbing nub and he sucked with everything he had. He felt her knees give and he reached behind her left side with his right arm and grabbed her hip to keep her upright. He rubbed small circles on the inside of her thighs with his left hand coaxing her through her pleasure and smiled when he felt her push into his face with her sex. She wanted more but, he held back.

Carol shuddered against his mouth and strong arms as she pushed herself against his lips and tongue seeking, more. 'More,' the word pushed through her consciousness as she fought to keep her eyes open and focused on his plundering mouth. "More," she gasped as she felt herself build, "please Daryl; MORE." Carol would swear, later, if asked, that she felt him smile against her sex.

'More,' Daryl heard the word gasp from her lips and grinned. He gave her slit one long and pointed lick before sliding a long a callaced digit from his left hand up her thigh and inside.

"Jesus, Daryl," Carol gasped as she felt his hand work against her.

Daryl pulled back from her, slightly, and smirked. "Jesus ain't got nothin' to do with it woman."

Carol began to shudder and buck against him, "Daryl, I'm gonna fall," she gasped. She felt herself building.

Daryl groaned he could feel her walls fluttering, so tightly, against the single digit. "God Damn Woman," he rasped, "so fucking tight." Daryl stood abruptly, keeping his hand secured in and around her sex. He banded his right hand around her waist and lifted her easily the thumb of his left hand strumming her clit lightly as he walked with her, lifted in his arm, to Mare's cot. It was lower to the ground than the gurney and Daryl couldn't help but think they had a better chance of not tipping it over. He captured her lips in a searing kiss as he lowered her carefully to the cot making sure not to bump or brush her wounded arm.

Carol gasped as she built. Her breath was coming in short pants as her back made contact with the cool sheets of the cot and despite her efforts to keep her eyes open she felt her lids flutter as her focus rolled back in her head. When she felt the rough scruff surrounding his mouth brush against her puckered nipple she came apart. Under his skilled ministrations she shattered and she heard Daryl growl as she did.

Daryl fought to maintain control as he felt her inner muscles clench down on his finger. Wetness flooded his hand and dampened the leg of his pants. He groaned and utilizing his right arm he kept himself propped up, so not to crush her, and withdrew the finger of his left hand from her core. He watched her consciousness drift back to reality and her eyes slowly focus on his features. When he was sure he had her attention he slowly brought his left hand to his mouth and licked her essence off his palm.

Carol shuddered underneath him and made a pouty face. "You're still dressed," she whined.

Daryl smirked. "Is there somethin' your wantin' woman? Maybe some 'sexual congress?'"

Carol raised an eyebrow a smirk on her lips. Daryl dipped his head and gave Carol a quick peck with a smile. Carol groaned and shifted her hips underneath his seeking friction and Daryl dropped his head to the crook of her neck with a groan. "Lose your pants hunter," Carol said playfully tugging on the fabric of the waistband with her toes.

Daryl rolled back to his knees his hands making quick work of belt, snap, and zipper. He quickly stood and dropped his pants to the floor toeing off his boots with his trousers. He hesitated only momentarily before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor with his pants and boots. Struck by a momentary blush of shyness Daryl looked to the floor before letting his eyes drift back to Carol's prone body.

Her right hand was hovering over her right breast the fingers brushing softly brushing her nipple. Daryl felt his breath catch in his throat. "You gonna stand there all night?" Carol grinned as she spoke and Daryl stroked his own hardness absently. "Make love to me Daryl Dixon," Carol whispered.

Daryl groaned and lowered himself over Carol's quivering form careful not to put any pressure on her left side. Her right hand went to his shoulders and back kneading the flesh with firm strokes. Her feet came up to each side of his hips tilting her pelvis flush with his groin. Daryl gripped himself securely in his left hand and pushed into her slowly. Carol gasped and Daryl froze, his brow knitting together with worry. "You okay?" He husked searching out an answer in her wide and watery eyes.

Carol nodded, gracing him with a shy smile. "I'm better than okay," she whispered. "It's just been, awhile."

Daryl grunted an affirmative noise began a slow even rhythm with Carol pushing up against him meeting him stroke for stroke. She bit her lower lip as he rode her and Daryl couldn't help but think it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen her do.

"Don't bite that lip off. I kinda like it," he husked against her neck as he thrust.

"Then don't stop," Carol whispered the plea.

Daryl felt himself began to tighten his cock growing impossibly harder inside her. She was so tight and yet, she seemed to stretch to fit him. It was like she was made for him, and he, specifically for her. She was fluttering again, her walls trembling against him. Impossibly tighter. Impossibly hotter. Impossibly perfect.

"Come for me," Daryl gasped. "Please, come for me Beautiful."

Carol nodded her head adamantly. The warmth in her stomach and core was spreading outward, through her body. Her fingertips and toes felt tingly and electricity coursed through her skin jumping from neuron to neuron. She tried to keep her eyes open, she really did, but, just like before she felt her eyelids flutter as the spring inside her coiled impossibly tighter. She gasped for air and then suddenly, before she could squeeze her eyelids shut she met his gaze and, just like that night in the hospital, she tripped and fell, over the edge, into blissful oblivion.

Daryl saw her go and two short thrusts later he lost it himself in the paradise of her intimate embrace. Shuddering he rode his climax inside her gasping for breath with the intensity of it. When he finally came back down he found that Carol was watching him with a curiosity he had not seen in her before.

"What," he said grinning.

"Just realized something," Carol said smiling softly.

"What's that?" Daryl asked his own curiosity now getting the better of him.

"I haven't told you I love you yet," Carol whispered. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

Daryl dropped a kiss onto her forehead. "Ya don't have to say that if ya don't want ta. I'm coming back to ya' either way."

"I know that silly," she said her hand coming up to cup his face, "I just wanted you to know. I love you Daryl." Carol enunciated the last sentence carefully making sure to keep eye contact.

Daryl nodded suddenly solemn. "I love ya too Woman but, ya know that right?"

Carol's only response was to bring Daryl back into her embrace with a searing kiss.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Seven levels up from Daryl and Carol in the lab Merle Dixon was going floor to floor looking for Beth. He found her sitting, cross legged, on Able's giant bed on level two. Merle leaned against the doorframe and watched her intently pick-up various shell casings and examine them carefully before placing them back in her lap.

"Where's the littin'?" Merle drawled lazily.

Beth jumped, snapped from her thoughts by Merle's husky voice.

Merle gave her a wolfish smile. "I scare ya?"

"No," Beth returned defiantly, "I was, just, focused. That's all."

Merle crossed the room and despite his knee's screaming protests, crouched down in front of the bed on eye level with Beth. "Where's the littin'?" He asked again.

Beth gave him a dulcet smile. "Marion wanted to take her for the night. I guess, at one time, they had a baby here. While the child's mother was being treated." Merle nodded and Beth continued, "Anyway, Marion said the best place for a child was in the kitchen. Something about the extra heat. She's got a crib in there so, I let her put Judy down in there. She dropped right off. Didn't cry at all."

Merle smiled. "And, what'cha got there?" He asked nodding to the casings in her hands.

Beth held up one of the sizable shells. "Fifty Caliber rounds. Marion was trying to get me to memorize the difference. These" she said holding up two with red tips, "are incendiary and these," she said holding up two with black tips, "are hollowpoint. But, these," she held up the last two round in her lap, "are something called talon equivalent."

"Cop-Killers," Merle muttered taking the orange tipped shells from her. "These are illegal," he said firmly. "Guess it really wouldn't make much difference in a round this big but, even in smaller calibers these 'ill tear a man up. There's a reason these aren't very common."

Beth reached forward and took the round back from Merle's fingers, depositing it on the bedside table. "Guess there are plusses to being funded by the remnants of the Russian Mafia," she said with a weak smile. Her lower lip began to quiver and Merle reached forward to cup her cheek as he saw tears threaten her focused demeanor.

"Darlin' I didn't mean to upset ya," Merle started, "I just….Shit." Merle watched as the first of several tears slipped from the corner of her left eye.

Merle was at a loss. He leaned forward as quickly as his aging joints would allow and crushed his mouth over hers. He didn't know what else to do. He desperately tried to recreate that moment from level one just a few hours ago. When there was no one but her and him. But, she didn't move against him like she had before. With a touch of despair he felt her lower jaw shudder and she began to cry anew. Merle went to pull away and, much to his surprise, her hands went to the sides of his head in a futile effort to hold him to her mouth.

Merle covered her right hand with his left and sighed pulling firmly away from her. Her left hand seemed to drop away of its own accord. "Angel," he rasped softly, "I'm a bad man."

Tears running down her face Beth shook her head adamantly. Her mouth formed a silent 'no,' that her sobs would not let her vocalize.

Merle gave a uncharacteristically soft smile. "Let me finish," he said, wiping her stray tears with the pointer finger of his left hand.

Beth nodded chewing absently at her lips. Worrying the chapped cracks open all over again. Merle stroked her lower lip with his thumb, trying to get her to still, "I am a bad man. But, I ain't never taken advantage of a cryin' woman before. Ain't no woman cries crocodile tears wit' Merle. You hear me?"

Beth nodded sucking in a cleansing breath and attempting to stifle her tears anew.

"So, we're gonna sit here," Merle finished climbing up to take his spot next to her on the bed. His legs easily dipped over the edge with his feet resting flat on the floor. Merle took Beth's right hand in his left. "And, we're gonna wait until you stop cryin'. Then you're gonna tell Merle what's going on. And, if I can fix it, I will."

Together they stared at the door for a good ten minutes. Silently. Not looking at each other Merle was true to his word and, uncharacteristically, he waited.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, Beth spoke. Softly. "Able said he was going to bed down in the twin's room tonight."

"That so?" Merle reached over and kissed the top of Beth's head in response.

Beth took a few deep breaths before she trusted herself to speak again. "Merle?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I don't want you to die," she whispered.

"That makes two of us," he said softly, as if sharing some slanderous secret.

Beth nodded, taking in his words. "We're gonna die," she said softly. "Six against sixty. Its like a Bible story."

Merle seemed to give this a great deal of thought before replying drooly, "And we're fresh out of Jesuses."

Beth snickered, she couldn't help it. "Merle," she exclaimed, volume suddenly finding its way back to her voice. She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "You're not taking me seriously!"

Before she had a chance to react further Merle reached over and gathered Beth into his lap. She gave a little squeal as he pulled her flush to his body. Dipping his head down he met her gaze and held it, "you're right," he replied firmly, "I ain't. And, let me tell you why. I been beat up, beat down, tied up, and chained down. I been lost in third world countries, New York City, and the Appalachians. I been starved half to death and left for dead. And, you know what?"

Merle paused and Beth swallowed nervously waiting for his answer.

"I ain't dead yet," Merle concluded. "Which leads me to the belief that either I'm too piss mean to die or the Devil's afraid I'll take over. Either which way I ain't dyin' tomorrow or any other day in the foreseeable future."

Beth stroked the side of his face and, despite himself, Merle leaned his face, slightly, into her touch. When he opened his eyes he saw a soft grin had replaced the fearful sobs her face had held only moments before. "That's more like it," he growled leaning down to meet her lips. This time, when he darted his tongue out to meet her mouth he found her lips parted and eager. He latched onto her lower lip, sucking it momentarily and letting out a groan.

"Oh," Beth made a startled noise as she let her hand drift between them to Merle's groin. His erection was suddenly and firmly poking her in the ass.

Her hand curled around it, inside it's cloth prison, and Merle let loose a low moan. He reached over and plucked her hand away with his. "Be time for that later, Darlin'. This time around I'd kinda like it to last and if ya keep fiddlin' like that this 'ill be over fore it begins."

Beth blushed, despite herself. Merle shifted on the bed lowering Beth carefully onto the sheets behind them. He carefully came down on mostly his right side only slightly still hovoring above her he slid his stump under her head. She smiled up at him and Merle's heart tugged in his chest. She trusted him. He could tell the look and he hadn't seen it often in his life. Never from a woman, not completely, not like this. She trusted him completely and he hadn't done a damn thing, in his mind, to earn it.

Beth marveled at all his lean muscle. It was almost too much, man. All man, and all around her. She found it borderline intoxicating like when she'd snuck a cup of eggnog at the FFA Christmas party four years ago. The room seemed lighter, her body felt, lighter, than it should. Her focus rested on his face, then, and it seemed, different somehow, unsure.

"You want this," Merle rasped, his free hand ghosting over her taut belly. "You really want this? You don't have to."

Beth's brow knitted together momentarily before she did the one thing she could think of, to prove to him how much she needed him. Her words were gone, useless in that moment. Beth softly touched Merle's cheek and smiled. She then let her own hands fall to the snap and zipper of her pants herself. Merle's breath hitched as he watched her actions. Carefully, afraid, almost, that he would pull away Beth wrapped her hands around Merle's single palm, holding it sandwiched between hers for the briefest of seconds before pulling it down. Together they slipped inside her panties.

Merle hissed when he touched her. He felt downy soft curls as his hand slipped lower, still sandwiched between hers. Finally, maddeningly miniscule millimeter by millimeter Beth withdrew her bottom hand before utilizing her top hand to cup Merle's larger palm around her mound. She was soaked.

Merle lost his mind in that moment. Somewhere between animal need and lust paramount with original sin his mind was lost to that feeling of her slick essence as it coated his long middle finger.

Beth felt him take over, saw it in his eyes, but, felt it in her core. She sighed and removed her other hand letting him stroke back and forth across her slit. Not entering but, setting a maddening pace of back and forth with just a little flick across that hardened bundle of nerves.

Merle withdrew his hand and Beth gave a little whine. Merle grinned, "Pants," he husked against her neck, "take 'um off."

Beth gave a little pout. She assumed he would undress her but, she reasoned internally, this wouldn't exactly be graceful or sexy one handed. A wicked thought crossed her mind as her newfound streak of boldness had paid off so well so far. She reached down to Merle's belt buckle and made short work of the leather and silver. Merle groaned into her neck. "Your pants Angel," he halfheartedly admonished.

Beth grinned, despite herself. "I will," she whispered. "I just wanna see." She pecked his cheek as he pulled his head up from her neck his whiskers scratching just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps as he pulled away.

"Wanna see?" Merle cocked an eyebrow. He had been with many woman. Many was an understatement. He literally couldn't remember the number of bar whores he'd bedded but, none of them had ever wanted to see. Beth slipped her hand inside Merle's rough worn canvas pants and Merle nearly blew his load, right there. He bit his lip and gave a high pitched groan. "Gentle darlin.' Boy ain't been out to play in a while," he panted.

But, Beth didn't hear him. At least didn't process that he had spoken, not right away. His skin was so hot. Beth marveled at the feel, the solidness of his member. Experimentally she tried to circle her hand around it and found that she could not make her fingers and thumb meet. She swallowed, the first touches of fear gripping her chest.

Merle panted, rolling onto his back, and trying to maintain focus. Beth came with him and, steeling her resolve, she loosed Merle's cock and grabbed both sides of his pants, pulling them down, and off, firmly. Somewhere in his haze of pleasure Merle thought to toe off his boots. He was now naked from the waist down.

No underwear. Merle Dixon went commando.

His cock sprung out to meet her at eye level as she crawled back up his legs. Beth's mouth went dry. Any fear she had moments ago dissipated when she beheld his manhood. It was taller than any she'd seen before, (granted she'd only seen two), but, not by much. The entirety of it stood at attention reaching maybe nine or so inches. But, that wasn't what made her marvel. The thickness of it was a sight to behold. It seemed to curve and point slightly back towards Merle's belly as it bobbed up and down with his pulse. Beth ran the lightest of touches along the underside. She marveled that it curved just enough she could hang a hat there, or a soup bowl. His balls were covered by a mass of trimmed neat reddish brown curls. Beth let her hand drift gently running her finger through the curls and watching how they sprung to the side to allow her finger passage to the base of his cock. Entranced she leaned forward and gave a long lick the length of the shaft.

Merle had been watching her fascinated by her interest in exploring his body but, when she licked him, "Fuck," he coughed slamming the back of his head down on the mattress.

Beth jumped back afraid she'd done something wrong.

Merle looked down to see her frightened eyes and groaned. He quickly stood up taking her with him and, dropping his left hand to the hem of her pants, he tugged at the fabric that still covered her. Beth seemed to get the idea and helped ridding herself of the slacks and, strangely, without a second thought, her underwear and shoes.

Merle let his left hand span her trembling stomach before gliding it up, under the hem of her shirt, to cup the soft swell of her right breast. His hand stopped there, thumb seeking her nipple, before he leaned forward and husked, "Off."

Beth only nodded in response, her body too much of a mass of live wires and lust to properly summon any scrap of discretion. With trembling fingers she removed her simple tee-shirt followed in short order by her bra.

Merle wasted no time and dipped his head and torso to capture her left breast in his mouth pulling the nipple into a soft pucker in between his lips while his hand concentrated on teasing the areola of the right. Beth moaned, her fingers raking his scalp as she tried to help hold his head in place. Merle smiled despite himself, she was a breast girl, and he was a breast man. Could this girl get any more perfect. Experimentally Merle bit down, lightly, just enough to give the nipple the slightest of pinch. Beth's sudden intake of breath was enough to make Merle wonder if he was right. He let his hand drift down to her quivering thighs and smiled when he found her dripping with need.

She clawed at his shirt and, reluctantly, Merle moved the hand that was teasing her core back to remove his shirt. Merle backed them against the wall, pinning Beth between his body and the solid cinderblock of the room. His hand went back to her core and experimentally, for the first time, while he continued to suckle her breast, he dipped a finger inside.

Beth froze and Merle let go his hold on her nipple with a soft, wet, 'pop.'

"Damn," he groaned, leaning into her body, burying his head in her neck. "God Damn, you're tight."

Beth quivered under his touch. She had put her own fingers inside, before. She knew, from books, this was part of it. She knew this would be part of it. She wanted him so badly and, this, she reasoned, would be her way to have him. In her heart she knew they would die tomrrow, she knew he knew it too. No mention of a condom. No mention of her family. He either didn't care or he didn't plan to need to care - visa vie - they were all going to die tomorrow. And, if tonight was all she got of their lifetime together; fear be damned.

Mele marveled at how fast Beth's body language changed, she seemed to go from whimpering and cooing under his ministrations to crawling on him. When his finger found her sex she paused, only momentarily, before looping her legs around his hips. Merle panted open mouthed for only a moment before crushing her mouth in a plundering kiss; his tongue mirroring the actions of his finger between her legs his thumb keeping a steady pace on her clit.

It blindsided her, the way she had heard a car crash, or falling in love, could blindside a person. It was her first, true, orgasam. Beth thought she was dying. Her eyes froze open and she watched Merle's head bob as it worked back down to her breasts. She felt a great wetness coat her thighs and then just as Merle's smiling eyes snapped up to search her face for something she couldn't name, Beth lost consciousness to blackness and felt, for a moment, like she couldn't breath. It was like being swallowed alive by pure bliss and, the best part, when she finally convinced her gaze to focus once more Merle was still right there.

"You ready?" Merle whispered; always giving her an out.

Beth nodded. "Yes," she whispered. And, in that moment, Beth Greene, was absolutely sure she meant it. No hesitation. No fear. Just love.

Merle steadied himself with his stump against the wall and gripped his cock with his left hand. Slowly, so carefully, so unlike him, he pushed inside. Beth began a quick panting next to his neck.

His head snapped up and he saw the pain clearly on her face. "Relax, Darlin', almost there," he whispered.

Beth closed her eyes and fought only to feel. Nothing else. The burn was intense but, then, suddenly Merle froze. Beth opened her eyes, confused.

Merle looked, marginally, upset. "You shoulda' told me," he husked.

Beth was struck by a momentary reflex of shame and closed her eyes turning her head to the side.

"Na'uh'," Merle chided as he tilted her head back to meet his gaze, "none of that," he whispered dropping a kiss on her nose. With a thrust so quick Beth couldn't have anticipated its arrival Merle pushed through the slight barrier of her virginity. Her eyes widened and tears threatened the corners. Merle kept eye contact with her as long as he could, seated completely in her now, if he continued to look in those eyes too long he come from beauty of it and he wanted her to enjoy this. Gently he dropped his head into the crook of her neck and whispered, "Thank You."

Beth nodded. Biting her lip to keep the tears at bay even as the burn between her legs was ceasing.

"Do you trust me?" Merle whispered into her neck.

Beth nodded and Merle pulled his head back, smiling. He slowly backed away from the wall and when the back of his knees met the bed he laid back onto the crisp, cool, sheets careful to keep her with him and seated inside her the whole way.

Beth marveled at the new angle.

"You okay?" Merle rasped looking up at her angelic form.

Beth smiled and nodded.

"This 'ill be easier for you," Merle murmured. "You control it from here out. Its all you darlin'." Merle let his left hand fall easily to her hip and waited.

Experimentally Beth pushed up against her knees, raising herself just a half inch or so up and then let herself slowly descend back down. The friction burned but, less than it had only moments before.

"That's it darlin'," Merle whispered relaxing back, "take your time."

Beth gave another push, this time rising a little farther. Another burn. Merle groaned and she smiled at the affect she was having on him.

Another push, this time no pain.

Another push, "Oh," Beth gasped a little startled at the tiny jolt of electricity that shot from her core out.

Merle gave her a knowing smile.

Beth sped up the rhythm, just slightly, and marveled at how Merle's body came up to meet her; thrust for thrust. She looked to his face and found him watching where their bodies met, unashamed. She looked too, then, and he caught her staring. "We fit Angel," he husked. Beth kept her eyes glued there, where they met, in fascination at how easily he slipped in and out of her. The delicious friction building, sending little intermittent jolts of electricity through her. Then under her gaze Merle slipped his left hand there and touched her, somehow finding that little bundle of nerves, in all the slick and sweat and when he gave it the slightest of rubs Beth came undone, for the second time.

Somewhere between the part where her breath came back but, before she drifted back from pure bliss, she heard the roar of some animal that sounded like it came from far away.

Beth collapsed onto Merle's chest and he held her there until she could once again properly form words.

"I think," Beth started, "I think I am going to choose to believe that you will not die tomorrow."

Beth felt Merle's chest rumble with a muted chuckle underneath her. "I think that's the most unusual thing any woman's ever said to me after sex," Merle offered.

Beth smiled at this and absently played with his chest hair until she felt her eyes drooping closed. Merle moved her then, carefully, to lay spooned in his embrace. As he curled around her he noticed the blood on her thighs and frowned.

Beth awoke, only slightly, to feel warm water on her stomach and thighs. "What'cha doin'?" She mumbled rolling slightly to see Merle seated next to her.

"Shhhh," Merle whispered, you need to sleep. "Gotta big day tomorrow, with the not dyin' and all."

Beth gave him a sleepy smile as he put the washrag he had used to clean away the blood, on the bedside table.

Beth was almost asleep when she remembered. "Merle," she said, her voice now very much awake.

"Hmmm?" It was a questioning grunt as he curled around her drawing her into a snug embrace.

"Merle, I have a plan, for tomorrow. But, I wanted to run it by you first."

Merle creased his brow behind Beth, "Little late to the table darlin' but, my Momma used to say, better late than never. Let's have it."

"You're not going to like it," she whispered.

Twenty minutes later and Merle had fumbled his pants back on.

"Merle, I'm sorry," she plead, "don't be mad."

Merle groaned and ran his hand through his short hair, keeping his gaze at the door. "I ain't mad Angel," he said quietly.

"Then why do you seem mad?" Beth's voice was trembling.

Merle was halfway out the door before she heard his response from the hallway. "Because it'll work, God Damnit. I hate it and it may be the best chance we've got."

**DON'T BE MAD - I'LL BE BACK WITH MORE, SOON. - UNTIL THEN, AS ALWAYS, CHEERS AND HAPPY WRITING!**


	23. The Little Girl Rode a Trojan Horse Home

********THIS IS PURELY FANFICTION AND I DO NOT MAKE ANY MONEY OFF IT WHATSOEVER. FURTHERMORE ALL TWD CHARACTERS CONTAINED WITHIN ARE THE PROPRIATARY PROPERTY OF KIRKLAND AND THE BIG WIGS THAT ACTUALLY DECIDE THE MADDNESS THAT HAS BEEN HAPPENING ON THIS SHOW. (BIG BREATH)! SO ENJOY - HOPEFULLY**************

"NO," Carol exclaimed. "No, I won't let you ask her to do this!"

Merle had found his brother and Carol curled in an intimate embrace on Marius' cot in the lab. After gruffly insisting that they put 'something' on he had gone to get Rebecca, both sets of twins, and Abel. He had left Beth back in Abel's room. Merle hoped that hearing Beth's plan from him would make it go over better. It had not worked out that way.

"Carol," Merle insisted, "it's really the best chance we've got."

Daryl ran a hand through his hair and began to absently rub his scruff with the other hand. It really was a good plan. A dangerous plan. But, a good plan.

"Ya' didn't think of this," Daryl murmured into his hand.

The statement was so muffled Merle almost missed it. Almost. He shot Daryl a warning look.

"Merle?" Marion quipped the name as a question. "Is that true? Who's idea is this? Daryl?" She turned her focus back to the younger brother. "If you're gonna turn my little sister into bait then I deserve to know who's idea it is."

"Wadn't mine," Daryl murmured. "I jus' know this ain't his," he said pointing to Merle. "Ain't like him."

"Shut it, Baby Brother," Merle spat.

"It's mine," Beth whispered the admission from the doorway. All the inhabitants of the silo focused on Beth. "I thought it up. I know they'll want to help."

"Beth," Carol's voice was significantly softer now as she addressed the younger woman, "this isn't right. They're children."

"Don't you think I know that," Beth's voice had taken a sharper edge. "I've been referred to as a child the last three years but," Beth took a stturing breath, "no one's a child in this world anymore."

"She's thirteen," Carol pleaded.

"And, Bay's six," Gabriel whispered.

"And, that's why it'll work," Beth emphasized. "They're innocent. They'll never suspect them. It's not like they have to hurt anybody. I won't make them do anything they don't want to but, at least ask them. Marion," Beth turned to the other woman, "you know I'm right. We can cover them. You and I, the whole time."

The room remained silent for what seemed like hours. In reality it was only a few seconds. A beaker shattered and Daryl whirled in place. It was rare any living creature got the drop on him but, it seemed like one creature in particular had started getting the better of him over and over during the last week.

Bay dropped from her hiding place on top of the cabinets onto the counter and met Daryl's eyes evenly. As if she had been caught in the act Alice opened a cabinet door behind Beth revealing her hiding place. "I'm sorry," Alice said meekly. "We were playing hide and seek and then Mrs. Carol got naked."

Carol groaned and covered her mouth. Daryl blushed six shades of fuchsia and wished the world would swallow him immediately.

Alice focused her eyes on the ground, "Anyway we both thought we should hide until Mrs. Carol put some clothes back on. I didn't see anything I swear!"

"Alice, sweetie, why don't you go with Bay up to our room?" Marion made to offer gently trying to maneuver Alice through the room toward the door.

Alice dug her heels into the floor and Marion was surprised when the girl stood firm refusing to budge once she was halfway to the exit.

"Alice," Marion encouraged, "come on. You and Bay can go check on Judith if you don't want to play. You two should be asleep anyway."

Daryl watched, mildly impressed, as the young girl took a few deep breaths and stood her ground; remaining silent.

"Alice?" Carol moved toward the girl attempting to take over for Marion. Her hand went out to take Marion's place on Alice's shoulder.

"No," Alice brushed Carol away as she stood her ground. "If you all are going to talk about Bay and me, I think we should get to stay." Bay moved across the room to take Alice's hand and stand next to her.

"It dosen't matter," Gabriel said, "it's not going to happen. We won't do it. I wont let my sister get put in harms way for a hail mary pass."

"But, you'll put yourself in harm's way?" Beth barked the question; a slip of indigence lacing her voice. "What difference does it make at this point. If we die tomorrow,"

"You're not going to die!" Merle exclaimed.

"Merle, NO, don't speak for me." Beth literally shouted, a hush falling over the room at her confidence. "If we all die tomorrow," she reiterated, "we leave them orphans with Carol and Marius."

Marius began to hum. He sat abruptly on a pile of notebooks and wrapped his arms around his waist rocking himself gently.

"This way," Beth continued, "we have a shot at coming back alive. We need to them."

"No," Carol began again ready to argue anew.

"I'll do it," Alice whispered. Bay made a few swift movements with her left hand. "We'll do it," Alice corrected.

Carol's face crumpled.

"I say we let them," Daryl murmured. "It's our best shot. If they want to..."

"But," Gabriel interjected.

"No," Abel rasped, the patriarch speaking for the first time. "No, buts, its a good idea. I hate it. But, Bay is fast and Alice," Abel looked to the older girl, "Alice wants to. And, Beth is right."

A second silence of the night hushed the lab. Marion huffed; speaking first. "If we're going to do this, we better do it right. It's not like anyone will be sleeping now. I've got an old hunter's orange jacket up in the kitchen. I'll bet I can stitch some clasps to hide a knife or two inside. Beth," she turned speaking to the younger woman, "bring my TAC fifty up from the armory and grab the boxes of rounds I showed you earlier. Grab that Tasco spotter scope as well. I'll need you to sight distance for me like we talked about. You three," she said turning to Rebecca and the twins, "gear up. If its okay with you," she looked to Abel, "we'll go ahead and split before dawn. That way I can get a good spot on the rise before sunup."

Abel nodded and looked towards Merle. "Your woman's thought of a good plan," he said, "but, if my baby girl dies, you better hope I die too."

Merle growled, "Ain't nobody gonna die. I'm sick of sayin' it."

Daryl chuckled despite himself. "Whole lotta folk are gonna die brother. Don't forget that. Just ain't gonna be any from the Dixon side."

Merle quirked a half smile, "Someone's got confidence in us. You always were the Zen one of the family Baby Brother."

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

The entire crew fit in two trucks. The twins took their S10 with Daryl in the middle seat and Alice and Bay secured in the truck bed by safety harnesses. Merle rode with Rebecca and Beth; Abel choosing to sit stoicly in the bed of her half ton as they bumped down the dark dirt road toward the prison. Marion was by his side, her hand around the hilt of her sniper rifle holding the deadly machine flush to her body. In the cab Merle kept gripping Beth's hand, realizing the gesture, and letting go. Beth absently stroked Merle's leg. "It's gonna be okay," she whispered. Merle didn't acknowledge her. His eyes were focused on the horizon, mind already in battle.

They stopped a half mile out. Abel hopped out and ran to the east. He was lost to the trees within seconds. "Be safe," Rebecca whispered to the night.

Gabriel pulled the S10 behind Rebecca's truck and hopped out. "Time for the chinese fire drill," he said pulling his his gear from behind the driver's seat. Marion got out of the bed of the truck and pulled her TAC-50 out behind her heading toward the S10. Daryl and Michael climbed out of the cab of the S10, ready to switch places with their sister. Merle helped Beth out of the cab and pulled her close. "Stay right next to Marion," he whispered into the crook of her neck. "Don't do anything heroic," he murmured.

Beth gave a half hearted smile, holding the sighting scope Marion had given her close to her body. "I'll leave the heroic stuff to you," she whispered.

Despite the situation Merle gave a half-hearted chuckle and pulled back slightly to look in her perfect angelic face. He began to say something else, something funny, something quippy but, the thought died on his tongue when he met her gaze. In lieu of words he ravaged her lips. His tounge dancing silently with hers. His intent to return to her was communicated by the persistent pressure on her lips. Then, as suddenly as he had begun the kiss, Merle ended it, leaving Beth breathless by the truck. Before she could say anything Merle hopped into the back of the truck taking Abel's former spot. Daryl was already silently waiting for him; silently regarding the night.

"Come'on," Marion loudly whispered from the S10, "we've got to drop the girls off and get in position."

On slightly shaky legs Beth crossed the short distance to the S10 climbing in the passenger seat to take her place beside Marion.

Both trucks came to life and Rebecca steered her cargo to the west side of the prison while Marion took the S10 and her passengers forward towards the north gate. Beth crossed herself and, in the other truck, Gabriel did the same.

Inside the prison, in the early morning dimness, while her master still slept, the Black Witch woke. Her heartbeat was a little faster then it had been for the past two years. Her eyes opened a little wider. Her breath caught in her throat. "Able?" She whispered the name, hoping against all odds that her heart quickened, as it used to, due to the proximity of her love. She swallowed dryly in the dark and her chains tinkled lightly as she moved. Leon shifted in his sleep. Ever so carefully the Witch moved toward his sleeping form careful not to make any more noise than necessary. Gently she lifted her key from Leon's pocket. It was a skeleton key as old as the shackles he'd gifted her with. She'd known where it was for ages, ever since the day he'd slipped the cuffs around her wrists and ankles but, never had she felt an opportunity arise to use it. The Witch sat back on the cool cement floor and gripped the key in her palm listening for any sign that her instincts were correct and this would be the day that she finally slipped her bonds.

Marion pulled the truck flush to the thickest part of the treeline and hopped out, Beth exiting the passenger side. Alice and Bay were already standing in the bed of the truck when Beth got back to the side. Alice held her hands out for Beth who lifted her over the side easily. Marion was already lifting Bay out over the other edge. She brought the younger girl to stand close to Alice before she knelt in front of them both to speak, "You know your parts?" Both girls nodded their heads adamantly. Marion gave them a reassuring smile as she drew Bay's neon orange hunter's safety hood up and pulled the drawstrings snug, cinching the hood in place. "They'll only look at you two, you'll stand out," she continued as she repeated the gesture with Alice's hood, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle out of the silvery reflective strip on her slightly larger jacket. "Beth and I we'll be back here at the truck bed," she whispered standing, "they'll never see us. You just have to get them to open the front gate. Once the gate is open run. Don't look back and don't hesitate just run." Alice watched Bays face carefully for any hint of confusion before cocking and eyebrow and giving her the thumbs up. Bay gave a jubilant, youthful smile, followed by her own thumbs up.

"Sounds good to me," Alice said confidently. Bay turned her attention to Marion and gave a second thumbs up.

Marion reached into the truck bed and withdrew a small walkie talkie like contraption. "Mare rigged it so we can hear you girls you just wont be able to hear us." Marion tucked the box into Alice's front pocket. "I love you sister," Marion whispered kissing Bay softly on the forehead. "And, you too, new sister," she said firmly kissing Alice on the forehead. "No matter what happens up there in the next thirty minutes don't forget that. Both girls nodded and Beth reached forward to give Alice a reassuring pat on the cheek.

"Don't look so solemn," Alice said brightly, "we'll be fine. Besides, if they like little girls so much, they'll open right up for us and then this can all be over faster."

Beth's breath hitched a little in her throat at Alice's words but, Marion remained unphased. Alice held her hand out and Bay took it. Together, both girls went through the treeline and toward the front gate.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

McMannis was exhausted. So, when he saw the smallish blob of hunter's orange moving against the treeline forty yards or so in the distance he thought, perhaps, that he might have nodded off and was dreaming. But, as he watched, the orange blob moved toward the front gate, directly under his guard tower, and, as it moved, seemed to move like a person. A small person but, a person none the less.

Lyman Breaton was working the pulley system to the front gates that early morning. His bitch was inside, tucked away, and awaiting his return but, his mind was already with her. He had a special surprise for her planned for this morning to celebrate their new home and he was having difficulty concentrating on 'guarding' his post with his mind going over the details in his subconsciousness. Lyman heard a whistle and turned his attention to the guard tower where McMannis was gesturing to something in the distance. Lyman focused his attention through the chainlink and saw, a child? A girl? Two girls? Lyman couldn't quite make it out. "What is it?" He yelled the question up to McMannis.

McMannis pulled the binoculars away from his eyes, "Girls. Two of them. Little."

A faint smile ghosted over Lyman's jaw, "How little?"

McMannis began to descend the tower so he wouldn't have to yell, "Too little for the King to let us keep them, ya' perv," he murmured closing the distance between Lyman and himself. "Open the inner gate. I'll tell 'um to get lost."

"Come on," Lyman countered. "We can find a place for them. I'll take care of them," Lyman raised his eyebrow insinuating volumes with the gesture.

"You're fucking sick. Open the gate," McMannis deadpanned.

Lyman grabbed the end of the pulley and yanked, "your loss asshole," he muttered.

Alice was pleasantly surprised when the front gates cracked; Bay was clutched tightly to her side. As the large iron gates split she marveled that she'd never seen the imposing slabs from the other side. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily. She thought of her Mother's death, her Father's twitching corpse, her friends lost to the last Walker invasion of cell block D. When Alice's eyes opened again she met McMannis' gaze evenly with tears flowing freely.

"Shit," McMannis whispered seeing the girl, "shit on a fucking cracker."

Alice did her best to break down while keeping her focus. The guy on the pulley hadn't opened the door very much; it wasn't wide enough. "Please mister," Alice whimpered, "we got left behind in one of the cars that took off yesterday. Our Mamma didn't make it; she died." Alice brought forth a fresh batch of tears that would have put shame to any preteen girl. Feeling her younger charge shake in her arms Alice looked down and noted that Bay was adding her own crop of tears to the pre-tense.

McMannis sighed and raked his hand through his hair, "Girls," he began, "this ain't no place for you two now. You're better off on your own."

Lyman chuckled from his place inside the gate.

"Please Sir," Alice tried again.

McMannis shook his head and pointed off toward the treeline. "You're better off out there you two," he said pointing out towards the woods.

Alice briefly looked over her shoulder, towards the woods, in the dim early morning light she could barely make out the glint of Marion's scope. She was watching but, Beth's plan wasn't working. As if she sensed her new sister's growing concern Bay took a deep breath and unleashed her trademark wail. All the walkers from the chain link to the treeline in every direction turned to hone in on the noise.

"Shut that little bitch up," McMannis growled his hand coming down hard towards Bay's cheek.

Alice reacted as quickly as possible curling her body protectively around the younger girl but, the blow never came. She looked up to see the man that had been holding the pulley had left the outer gate open wider and tied off the rope in time to catch her aggressor's hand. Alice found her voice, "Thank you," she whimpered.

Lyman smiled balefully down at the young girls. "I've done you a favor now," he said softly standing relaxed next to McMannis like nothing had just transpired. "Now you have to do me one, so we're even."

Alice kept her breathing even her body crouched around Bay. "Sir," she whispered, "just one more favor."

Lyman laughed uprouriously and even McMannis cracked a smile. "What's that, Future Love of My Life, what other favor can I possiably do for you?"

"Die," Alice whispered the word to her front pocket where Marion had tucked the walkie talkie.

Lyman never heard the shot. It sounded like a muffled bat, wrapped in a blanket, hitting a tree. By the time the round entered his skull his only thought was 'no' and then his skull exploded into a fine red mist that coated McMannis' face and rained down of the girls below.

"Fuck Me," McMannis screamed stumbling backwards toward the gate. His back hit something solid and a blade pressed against his throat.

"Nah, I'm taken, asshole," Daryl murmured into McMannis' ear as he drew the blade across the startled man's jugular.

Alice stumbled to her feet bringing, a now silent, Bay close to her side. Merle was coming close behind his brother keeping to the shadows to avoid detection. Both men had set jaws and the look in their eyes scared the girls a little. Merle crouched behind his brother and drove his knife into the back of McMannis's skull. "Gotta get them in the head Baby Brother," Merle growled as he stood wiping the blade on his pants. "You should know that by now."

Daryl cocked his eyebrow, "I know that. I was gettin' to it."

"Whatever," Merle murmured pulling his walkie from a cargo pants pocket. He pressed the small orange button on the side and brought the box to his lips, "We got the front gate."

"Standby," it was Gabriel's voice.

Merle sighed openly figiting in the moment. Daryl crouched down, "Take the littlin'," Daryl rasped to Alice, "and run back to Bethie. Her and Marion 'ill watch out for ya. Ya did good."

Alice whispered something incoherent and grabbed Bay's hands as she turned and moved back to the treeline. Bay wrenched away momentarily and closed the distance between she and Daryl. She paused for half a second and then carefully pecked Daryl on the cheek. 'For luck,' she signed then, together, she ran with Alice to the trees.

THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL THE PROTOCOL

Michonne's ears perked at the sound of the shot. It was faint, in the distance, but, not too far off. She stood, gently lowering Maggie's body from it's former position leaning on her, still in the thin blanket, to the floor. Michonne then moved to the cell's small window that looked out onto the north courtyard. She could see figures moving at the gate but, nothing in the guard tower. She focused on the movement willing it to clear. Michonne tracked the movement something metallic catching her gaze. She watched as Daryl's oversized buoy knife glinted in the early morning light. She knew that knife. She'd recognize that garish pig sticker anywhere.

"Michonne?" Maggie's voice croaked as she spoke in the dim morning light. Her bruises from the day before had swollen painfully and she was finding it difficult to focus on her cellmate's movements in the darkness of their confines.

Michonne held up one finger, silencing the girl. Maggie stood and moved towards the window bringing the blanket with her. She tried to focus past the bars but, she couldn't see anything.

"Mi," Maggie started again.

Michonne turned to face Maggie her finger going to the farmer's daughter's lips in a silent act of communication. Michonne leaned in and spoke directly into Maggie's ear. "Find something in here you can use as a weapon," she whispered.

"Wha," Maggie tried again.

As Michonne moved back from her ear Maggie could see a small smile on the huntress' face. "The Dixon's are home," she confided, "it's time to fight."

***********BE BACK WITH MORE SOON. THESE LAST COUPLE OF CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN A GREAT DEAL HARDER TO WRITE. HOPEFULLY, MY MUSE WILL GRACE ME WITH SOMETHING SOONER RATHER THAN LATER. UNTIL THEN, AS ALWAYS, CHEERS AND HAPPY WRITING*****************


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